


Better Outrun My Gun

by Magnetism_bind



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 42,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is searching for the man who murdered his parents. Charles runs a saloon with his sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for the XMFC kink meme on LJ. Since then it's been languishing. Slowly moving it over here in the hopes of getting to the end sometime soon.

The well standing three miles out of town is dry as a bone. Just his luck. Erik Lensherr pushes his hat back on his forehead, wipes his brow and sighs. This means he has to actually go into town which he wasn't really planning on. He tends to avoid them unless he knows it's worth his while.

Still, it would be nice to spend the night in a bed, and maybe have a bath and a hot meal. He needs more bullets anyway. That decides the matter. He mounts his horse and rides toward town.

It's a dusty shithole of a town, just like the last seven towns Erik's passed through. Pockets of humanity trying to eke out a living in the middle of nowhere. They're always the same, always populated by the same people. Half of them honest, stubborn folk who foolishly believe they can survive out here. And then there's the rest, greedy violent souls who will do anything for money, the gamblers, hunters, thieves and whores. Erik isn't particularly fond of the lot, but they're more his sort than the farmers.

Each town is always built the same, springing up from the dust and the dirt. There's the usual assortment of buildings. Train station, now that the railroad finally reaches this far, blacksmith, general store, saloon. A handful of houses on both sides of the street, ramshackle at best.

Erik dismounts at the livery stable where he pays a small boy two bits to stable his horse for the night. “Any chance you know where I could get a room for the night?” From what he can see there doesn't appear to be a hotel.

The little boy looks thoughtful. “Try the saloon.”

“Really?” Erik glances at it.

“Mrs. MacTaggert runs it. She rents out rooms if you want 'em.” The boy grins up at him. “They come with women if you want them too.”

“I see.” Erik tosses the boy another coin. “Take good care of my horse.”

“Yessir.”

Erik throws his saddlebag over his shoulder and heads down the street toward the saloon.

The faded sign hanging over the door says _The Red Rose_. Erik pauses and looks around a second before pushing through the swinging doors. The room is fairly empty. There's a woman drying glasses behind the bar. A quiet card game is going on in the corner, three men, none of them a threat. A blonde young man is leaning against the piano at the opposite side of the room, having a smoke.

Erik goes up to the bar. “Who do I talk to about getting a room for the night?”

The woman turns around. “That would be me, Moira McTaggert.” She's pretty, although there are already worry lines around her eyes, and Erik wagers she is not one quick to smile. “Three dollars for the room, six if you want a girl.”

It's not unappealing. It's been a while since Erik's lain with a woman, but he shakes his head. “Just the room.” He needs to concentrate tonight.

Moira hands him the key and he passes over the three dollars. “Straight up the stairs. Third door on the left.”

“Thank you.” Erik takes the key. “How much would a bath cost?”

She looks surprised for a moment. Erik reckons not too many of her clientele care about bathing. “Four bits. Shall I have some water sent up?”

Erik nods. "Thanks,” He goes up the stairs. Behind the first door he hears a low, breathy murmuring. Behind the second, the sound of a squeaking mattress. Despite the afternoon hour, it looks like business at The Red Rose is already bustling.

Erik enters his room and closes the door. He hangs his hat on the bedpost and slings his saddlebag over the chair in the corner. Finally, he hangs up his gun belt, his hand passing over the butt of the gun, reassuring himself that it's there.

He strips down to his trousers, and gets out his shaving kit. Tonight he needs to win at poker, if only to pay for supplies to the next town. With any luck there will be enough men willing for a game. Chances are there will be. Erik's long since discovered that no matter how small the town, the men are usually up for a game of cards.

There's a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” He can reach his gun in three seconds if he has to.

“Your bathwater.” It's a young man's voice. Erik steps over to the door. He has a knife in his boot just in case. He pulls the door open to find a young man holding a large basin.

“Technically, it's just the basin. I'll bring the water up next.” The young man looks hesitant, but nonthreatening.

“Go ahead.” Erik pushes the door all the way open.

“Thank you.” The young man enters the room and sets the basin down. Brown-hair, blue eyes, and the smile that his sister didn't inherit. Bar owner's younger brother, Erik wagers.

The young man goes out again. Erik has started shaving by the time he returns with two buckets of water. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscled forearms. He pours each bucket carefully into the basin, looks at it and mutters, “One more,” then goes out again.

Erik wipes his razor off and continues shaving. Slowly, he starts looking less like a creature of the desert and more like a civilized person again. The transformation is always strange. He feels more like the creature of the desert.

The young man lugs the last bucket in and empties it into the basin. “There. You'd probably better bathe before it gets cold.”

“Thank you...” Erik glances in the mirror. He wonders if he should tip him, but the young man is already gone.

Erik wipes his face with the towel and then quickly removes his trousers and underclothes. The bathwater is soothing against his skin. He leans his head back and soaks until he feels more human.

* * *

By the time Erik's out of the bath and dressed again, it's early evening. His stomach grumbles at him, reminding him that it's been over a day since he's bothered to eat. He fastens his gun belt and goes downstairs.

With the coming of night, the saloon has taken a turn for the lively. The pianist is playing a jaunty tune in the corner. Half the tables are now filled with men drinking and gambling. And there's a lovely young redheaded woman, in a dark blue velvet dress, singing a song about the moon. Erik makes his way to the bar.

“Brandy, please.”

Moira gives him a look. “Now don't you clean up nice.”

“I try,” Erik says in mock seriousness.

That actually wins a smile from her, and he feels mildly triumphant. He sips at his brandy and listens to the girl sing. She has a pleasing voice and an even more pleasing figure. He wonders if she's one of the girls he could have had tonight.

“Charles,” Moira calls into the backroom. “Where are those glasses?”

“Coming.” The young man, Charles, apparently, appears with a crate of clean glasses. “Here.” He catches sight of Erik and whistles. “Fancy.”

“Am I?” Erik looks into the mirror across the bar at his reflection. He's wearing his slightly nicer (read: slightly cleaner) shirt, with a silver waistcoat, black coat and trousers. His boots gleam now that he's wiped the dust from them, as well as the polished bone handle of his gun. He wonders how he looks to other people, when all he sees in the mirror is blood and shadows.

“Could you tell me where I could get a meal around here?”

“Well, depends on what you're looking for. If you want a nice dinner, with all the trimmings, go up the street a ways. There's a place called the Blue Diamond that would suit you splendidly.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Moira shrugs. “If it's just food you want, you can have a plate of stew here for a dollar.”

“I'll go with the stew.” Erik takes his brandy over to a corner table. He'd rather eat here so he can stake out the playing fields. He sips it slowly, studying the faces of the men around him.

After a minute or two, Charles comes out of the back room with a bowl of stew and a plate of bread. He brings it over to Erik. “Here you go.”

Erik nods, swallowing the last of his brandy. “Bottle of whiskey and a glass?”

“Sure thing.” Charles goes off.

Erik tastes a spoonful of stew. It's good, spiced just right, hearty and filling. He tears off a piece of bread and dips it in the stew. He hasn't eaten this well in years. Charles comes back with the whiskey and glass, setting them down in front of him.

“Tell your sister she's a good cook.”

Charles pauses. “Actually...it wasn't her.”

“Oh?” Erik dips another bite of bread in the stew, letting the juices soak through it before he puts it in his mouth. “Who then?”

“Me.” Charles says, almost defensively as though he expects Erik to mock him for it or something.

Erik swallows his mouthful of bread. “Then may I say, you are a very talented cook,” he pauses, since he knows Charles's name, but they haven't actually been introduced.

“Charles. Charles Xavier.” Charles tells him. He almost starts to raise his hand, but halts the gesture awkwardly.

“Xavier,” Erik repeats, “Thought McTaggert was your sister...”

“Half-sister.” Charles says, his face tightening slightly. “Excuse me, I have to get back to work.” He disappears into the back room.

Erik shrugs and returns to his meal.

Charles returns to the bar after a little while and starts polishing glasses. Erik spares him a glance now and again while assessing the room. The three old ranch hands playing five card stud in the corner are no good to him. Another table with four men engrossed in their game might be right, but the stakes are fairly low at this point in the game, so he'll wait.

Moira tends bar with ease. She's confident and civil to her patrons. Now and again one of the men disappears upstairs, into one of the rooms, but there's never any disturbance or crude interruptions. It's almost a pleasant atmosphere, for a saloon. _A rare thing_ , Erik thinks to himself, as his gaze trails back to Charles.

The first thing that Erik noticed about him earlier was that he wore no gun. Despite being dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, apron tied around his waist while he hauled crates and moved glasses back and forth, he looked strangely undressed in Erik's eyes. He could be anywhere from nineteen to twenty-five. Erik thinks about Moira, who looks to be in her late twenties, and guesses the younger brother is twenty-two or three at the most. _Young_ , Erik thinks, _too young, too green, and not at all suited to the life out west._

He starts to look elsewhere, but then the redheaded singer makes her way over to the bar and starts chatting with Charles. Light, easy conversation as Charles pours her a drink. It's casual, but there's something about it, and the way the redhead smiles, and Erik guesses then, she's another sibling. Three of them altogether.

There's something about the thought of the three siblings sticking together working together, that makes his throat go a little tight. Erik swallows his whiskey fast and pours another shot.

Around ten, the game he's been watching is finally up to his standards. He moseys over with his whiskey, asks if he can join, and the men welcome him to the table. Erik takes a sip of whiskey and watches the cards get dealt.

* * *

“What do you think?” Raven nods to the man now sitting at the card table. “Gambler?”

“Maybe.” Charles says. “I'd say he knows how to play, but it's not his profession.”

“Gunfighter then,” Raven studies the gun belt, the make of the weapon, “It certainly looks as though he knows how to use it. Look at how the holster's all worn.”

“Infinitely more probable, and yet.” Charles can't pin the man down. Earlier, he'd just looked like another scruffy ranch-hand, and now here the man was, all cleaned up and looking mighty fine for a gambler, let alone a ranch-hand.

“Did he ask for any of the girls?”

“Nope.” Raven grins at him. “Why?”

“No reason.” Charles polishes the glass he's already polished twice before. “Just curious, that's all.” It was rare that their guests didn't take advantage of the handiness of having a girl right there. The convenience was too inviting.

“One of these days, Charles,” Raven starts and he just shakes his head and pours them both a drink.

One of these days, maybe he'll meet someone, someone who wants what he wants. But it's hardly going to be some poker-playing gunfighter. That's just not in the cards.

* * *

The evening is going fairly well for Erik. He has the players up to the level he prefers to play at. The pot isn't bad. It will tide him over till the next town at least. He's examining his hand, while assessing his opponent's next move when it happens.

There's a man standing in the doorway of the saloon, looking around. He nods to the men behind him and then enters. Moira turns to face them behind the bar.

The music slowly stops as the piano player catches sight of the man. The saloon falls silent as the man makes his way to the center of the room. “Now, I didn't say stop.” He grins at the piano player disarmingly. “Go ahead and play, son.”

The blonde does, shakily at first, keeping it low. The man turns back to the bar, to Moira, as his men fan out around the room. Erik tracks them, watching them position themselves. They're waiting for something, the word from the man to act.

“Now,” the man leans on the bar. “You know what I've come for, Moira.”

“And I told you I'd have it at the end of the year, Shaw.”

Shaw shakes his head sadly. “That's not how loans work. Your time is up. Now, are you going to pay me, or do we need to find an alternative?”

“Such as?” Moira says civilly.

“I can take it out of your girls,” Shaw says just as civilly. His grin is wide and unpleasant. “Starting with Raven.”

“She's not,”

“Oh, she is.” He says, turning to look at the redhead, who's watching him. “Look at her. Now, what do you say, Moira?”

“I'll have your money at the end of the year, like we agreed.” There's a strain in her voice, but she's keeping calm. Erik admires her for that.

As for himself, Erik had frozen as soon as the man spoke. That voice, he knew that voice. Of all the towns he's spent the last decade of his life wandering in and out of, now...here, of all places...is this man. His fingers itch to reach for his gun. But he has to be sure, he has to be calm. So he waits, and listens and remembers that voice from another time.

“I guess it's true what they say,” Shaw shrugs. “Women just don't understand business. Maybe I need to give you an example.” He nods to two of the men. “Bring out her brother.”

“No!” Moira starts, but Shaw holds up a hand.

“Now, don't do anything foolish.”

The two men bring Charles out of the back room. He's struggling, but can't pull himself free of their grasp. Moira looks at him helplessly. Raven has left the stage, and is halfway across the room when Shaw turns to her. “Stop right there, missy, unless you want me to put a bullet through your brother's skull here and now.”

Raven stops dead, not moving another step.

“There's a good girl.” Shaw turns his attention back to Charles. “Somebody got that rope?”

Another man steps forward and tosses the rope he's carrying over the beam. There's a noose at one end. Charles stares at it, as the men pull him forward, fastening it around his neck.

“Now, if I can just borrow this chair a moment.” Shaw snags a chair from the nearest table and brings it over to where Charles is standing. “Step right up, sonny.”

“Shaw, stop this, let him go,” Moira's hands are clenched against the bar, as she though she's forcing herself to remain there, and not fly forward to rescue her brother.

“I said I was going to give you an example. I happen to be a man of my word. Unlike some people.” He laughs, and Erik stills.

He's sure now. There's no mistaking that laugh. Erik downs his whiskey, letting it burn. He watches as Shaw's men force Charles up onto the chair.

“Up you go. There.” Shaw steps back. “Now...that's a pretty picture.” He grins and draws his gun. Moira goes white. Raven takes half a step, her hand outstretched as though trying to snatch her brother out of danger. The man holding the rope jerks on it, until Charles is forced up on the tips of his toes. He can barely balance straight, as he struggles for breath, hands pulling futilely at the rope around his neck.

“Stop moving,” Shaw says, firing. One of the legs on the chair goes out. Charles wavers some more, trying to stay upright. Shaw fires again. The chair is going to collapse at any moment. Charles's breath is ragged and harsh in the silence of the bar.

“Shaw, please,” Moira begs.

Shaw ignores her, and fired for a third time. The chair crumples beneath Charles's feet, but instead of being choked, he merely falls with it as the rope above his head is shot neatly in two.

Shaw turns his head to look for the man who dared interrupt his fun. He finds him, sitting calmly at the poker table, gun resting on his thigh.

“And what, the fuck, do you think you're doing?” Shaw inquires pleasantly.

“Speeding things up, I hope.” Erik says. Behind Shaw, Charles has managed to get to his feet, but the two men have seized him again. Now they're just standing there, holding him, waiting for Shaw's orders. Charles's eyes are on Erik. Erik ignores this; he keeps his focus on Shaw.

“I beg your pardon.” Shaw's about two seconds away from shooting him just for the hell of it.

“You interrupted my game,” Erik says, his tone light, easy-going, “His dying would have taken longer. I merely quickened the point you were making.” He's not quite sure Shaw will buy it. But there's a chance. If there's one thing Erik's learned over the years, there's always a chance.

“Well, now,” Shaw studies him. “That wasn't a bad shot.”

“Thank you.” Erik slips his gun back into his holster, even though it goes against all his instincts. Instead he reaches for his cards.

“Gentlemen,” Shaw smiles. “Please continue your game.” He walks over to the bar to face Moira. “We'll finish this discussion another day.” He tips his hat to her. “Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. McTaggert.” He turns to his men and nods. They release Charles and follow him out of the saloon.

For a moment there's silence, and then slowly things return to the way they were before they were interrupted. People like to pretend things haven't happened, that they haven't just witnessed anything out of the ordinary. They follow their patterns and ignore the things that stand out and cause trouble. People, Erik thinks viciously, are nothing more than sheep.

“Shall we continue, gentlemen?” He smiles thinly as he reaches for his whiskey glass.

One of the men mumbles something about needing to get home and leaves, but the other three are still willing to play. As they pick up where they left off, Erik glances toward the bar. Moira has her hands on Charles's shoulders, talking to him quietly. The red burn from the rope is visible around his neck.

Erik looks away.


	2. Chapter 2

The game lasts until the early hours of the morning. Erik won enough for what he needed, but not too much that the men wouldn't play again. Since it looked like he'd be staying around for a few days at least he had to keep the opposition content.

As the rest of the players finally departed for their homes, Erik goes over to the deserted bar. From the back he can hear low voices. He moves closer, listening.

“It can't go on like this,” Raven was saying, pacing around the room.

Moira sits at the table. She presses her hands to her face wearily. “Then what do you propose we do?”

“Pay him.” Charles says quietly, “Pay him what we can and promise the rest as soon as possible.”

“I've already done that, Charles.” Moira's voice is sharp. “Don't you think I've already tried that.”

“I'm sorry.” Charles looks down. His left hand touches the burn at his neck gingerly.

“No, it's just,” Moira shakes her head. “The only payment he'll accept in lieu of the full amount is the girls.” Her eyes flicker to Raven, and then away, not wanting to even contemplate the idea.

“Then let him have me.” Raven stops pacing to face her sister.

“No!” Charles protests.

“What does it matter?” Raven continues, “If he'd leave us alone otherwise.”

“Raven, the day I let you do that is the day I'll be dead,” The words are flat and dangerous. There's a strength to Charles that isn't noticeable at first. Maybe he's not as soft as Erik thought.

“Let me?” Raven stares at her brother incredulously. “You can't let me do anything, Charles. I don't have to listen to you.”

"I'm older."

"By three minutes." Raven retorts.

“All right, that's enough.” Moira says. “The both of you, stop.”

Raven glares at her and goes out through the back door. For a moment, Moira just sits there, looking at Charles, who's studying the floor.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don't know.” Moira stands. “We'll talk about this more in the morning.”

“It's already morning,” Charles points out dryly.

“Get some sleep, Charles.” Moira goes to press a kiss to the top of his head.

Erik moves away silently. He goes up the stairs, past the now silent rooms to his own room. He goes in, closes the door and stops.

There, stretched out in his bed, the sheet just barely covering her body, is Raven. Erik just looks at her. The girl is beautiful like this, bare of any artifice or decoration. The thin cotton sheet leaves little to the imagination, and Erik has always been very good at imagining.

“Well, to what do I owe this surprise?”

Raven smiles, resting her chin in her hand. “Moira said to tell you that anything you want, anything at all, is on the house.”

“Did she know you were planning this?” Erik gestures at the bed.

“Not exactly.” This time her smile is more enticing.

Erik studies her as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey. There's enough for one last drink. He thinks he deserves it. “Would you be in my bed if I hadn't saved your brother earlier?”

“Well,” Raven considers, “No. Probably not.”

At least she's honest. “There you go,” Erik takes a swallow of whiskey. “Now get out.”

She sits up, letting the sheet fall away from her body. “I'm just trying to repay you.”

“I don't need to be repaid.” He needs sleep, peaceful sleep with no dreams. He doubts he'll get that.

Raven stands, reaching for her robe. It's not that the offer isn't tempting. Erik is sorely tempted. The feel of that young, lush body under his would be wonderful. Her skin looks so soft, and her hair makes him catch his breath with its beauty. Raven faces him as she ties her robe. Erik watches silently as the white skin disappears beneath the silk, and tells himself he's doing the right thing. It's been a long time since he's done that. It feels strange.

“Well,” Raven walks over to the door. “Thank you, anyway...” She's waiting for a name.

Erik shouldn't tell her. He doesn't like people knowing his name, his business or anything else about him. But there's something about the way the girl looks at him.

“Erik,” he says at last.

“Thank you, Erik.” Raven smiles and goes out.

Erik takes off his boots, then his gun-belt. He strips off all his clothes and lays down naked on the bed. It's not the smartest thing to do in case he needs to make a run for it in the night, but there are times when he needs the illusion of safety, where he can pretend that it doesn't matter what he does, that no one will come for him in the middle of the night, that nothing bad will happen ever again. It's a lie, but there are nights when Erik's willing to deceive himself if only for a few hours.

The bed smells like Raven, the faint scent of her perfume lingering long after she's gone. It takes Erik much longer than it should to fall asleep.

* * *

Charles lies awake in his bed in the darkness of his room. He can't close his eyes without feeling the noose around his neck once more, or hearing Shaw's laughter. He touches the mark on his neck, and thinks about the man who saved him. The man who didn't even look twice at him afterward but simply returned to his card game. Charles can't help wondering whether the man even cared who'd been in the noose, or whether he would have done the same for anyone who'd interrupted his game. It shouldn't matter to Charles, but it does.

* * *

There's a knock at Erik's door far too early. He pushes himself out of bed, reaching for his gun.

“Who is it?”

“Shaw wants to talk to you.”

Erik pulls the door open an inch. Three of Shaw's men are outside his door. No doubt to persuade him to go along quietly, in case he resists.

“Just a minute.” He closes the door and goes to get dressed.

Raven's behind the bar when he walks downstairs with the men. Charles is wiping one of the tables. They both watch with quiet worry in their eyes. Erik tries not to look at them. It's none of their concern what happens to him, and it's none of his what happens to them. Best to keep it that way.

His horse is ready and waiting for him outside the saloon.

“Mount up,” the lead henchman says, so Erik does. He's the man who put the noose around Charles's neck, a tall man with bushy black hair and an accent Erik can't quite place.

The ride to Shaw's ranch takes a little over half an hour, but the ranch's boundaries are right outside the town limit. No wonder it's so easy for him to control the town, he's right there on top of them, like a vulture.

The ranch house itself is a wide, sprawling building, shaded between two cottonwood trees. The porch runs around the front of the house to the side. It reminds Erik of houses he's seen in the South. Lavish, genteel structures overlooking their plantations. The men dismount, tying their horses to the hitching post. They escort Erik around the house to where Shaw is waiting on the side porch, breakfast laid out on the table before him. He greets Erik with a smile.

“I'm pleased you could join me, Mr...”

“Smith,” Erik says. It's unlikely Shaw would remember his name, but he can't take the chance.

“Right,” Shaw doesn't buy it, but he's amused. “Won't you have some breakfast, Mr. Smith?”

“Just coffee.” Erik sits opposite Shaw, well aware that the three men are spaced evenly behind him.

“Sure thing.” Shaw turns toward the screen door, “Emma! Some coffee for our guest.” He looks at Erik. “Now, I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you're doing here in town.”

“Just passing through,” Erik says easily. His gun feels heavy against his leg. The weight of the metal reminds him that he could have Shaw dead in a matter of seconds. It would be easy. He should just do it, right now. His fingers twitch and he curls them them tightly to keep himself from reaching for his gun.

“Is that right?” Shaw eats a bite of sausage, studying Erik over the table.

The screen door opens and a blonde woman brings out a tray with a fresh pot of coffee. She sets it down by Erik and smiles. “How do you take it?”

“How do you like to prepare it?” He smiles back at her. It never hurts to charm your enemy's lady. Of course, it can often get you killed, but Erik's willing to take the risk. You never know when you might need the lady's help.

Emma laughs lightly, reaching for the cream. She pours a thin stream then adds a spoonful of sugar, before stirring it and setting it in front of Erik.

“Thank you.” Erik sips it.

Shaw leans back in his chair. “Are you sure you won't have any breakfast?”

“No, thank you.” The thought of eating with this man makes Erik's stomach turn. It's hard enough just sitting at the same table with him.

“It appears he's just not enticed by your cooking, my dear,” Shaw shakes his head at Emma sadly.

“What a shame.” She goes back inside the house.

“Lovely, isn't she?” Shaw grins at Erik.

“Very,” Erik agrees. “Your wife?”

“Not quite,” Shaw takes a sip of coffee. “She's my late brother's widow. He died a few years back, and I had to step in to help Emma run the place.”

“Very good of you.” Erik takes another sip of coffee. It's hard to swallow past the bile collecting in his throat, but he manages.

“That's enough about me,” Shaw sets his cup down. “Now, I want to know about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Shaw had only to remember the past, then he would realize he already knew everything there was to know about Erik Lensherr.

“I want to know how much for your gun.”

“My gun?”

“Your gun-hand, your services, you.” Shaw threads his fingers together in his lap, “The men around here tend to work for me, if they're smart.”

“And if they're not smart?

“Well, then they're generally dead.” Shaw says pleasantly.

“Generally?” Erik takes another sip of coffee.

“I tend to let the townsfolk keep to themselves, run their little businesses. It keeps them busy, but anyone with a gun...anyone like you, I prefer to have on my payroll. What do you say?”

“What exactly does being on your payroll require?”

“Keeping order in town. Tending the ranch. Following my orders. That sort of thing.”

“I see.” Erik takes a last sip of coffee and sets the cup down. “Well, that's a very tempting offer, Mr....”

“Shaw, Sebastian Shaw.” He offers his hand across the table and Erik forces himself to take it. “Now what do you say?”

“I'm not entirely sure how long I'll be in town.”

“For as long as you are then.” Shaw presses the offer.

Erik has to be sure, so at last he nods. “All right.”

“Excellent.” Shaw beams in satisfaction.

He has to be sure before he kills the man. He owes his mother that much.

Erik gets to his feet. “Well, this has been pleasant.”

“Where do you think you're going?”

“My gear's at the saloon.”

“One of my men will fetch it. Janos.” He nods to one of the men behind Erik.

“I prefer to stay at the saloon.” Erik says. He can feel the men at his back, ready to stop him from leaving if Shaw gives the word.

“And why's that?” Shaw's eyes narrow slightly.

“Let's just say I've taken a fancy to one of the girls.”

Shaw chuckles at that. “Unsurprisingly, but I do like to have my men around me. It's convenient.”

“Surely it wouldn't hurt to have a man in town.” Erik points out.

Shaw considers this. “I suppose it wouldn't take too long to fetch you when I want you.” He nods and stands. “You can tell Moira, I'll see her tonight.”

“Sure thing.” Erik touches the brim of his hat. “Please tell Emma the coffee was delicious.”

“I'll do that.” Shaw gives the briefest nod to his men and they step aside. Erik can feel their gaze following him as he walks around the house to get his horse.

* * *

The ride back into town feels blessedly short in comparison to the last ten minutes he's spent in Shaw's presence. It's as though he can breathe again after being locked in a dark, airless place. He nudges his horse off the road down the short trail to the river. For a moment, Erik just sits there in his saddle as the horse drinks. He closes his eyes, gulping in the air.

There's a noise off to his left and Erik's gun is in his hand before he knows it, twisting in the saddle to aim...only to lower it in surprise as Charles takes a hesitant step forward from behind the tree he was leaning against.

“I could have shot you.” Erik says harshly. His finger had been on the trigger. If he had fired Charles would be dead now.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” Charles apologizes.

“Never sneak up on a man with a gun.” Erik puts his gun back in the holster. “What're you doing out here anyway?”

“I was,” Charles hesitates. “Waiting...”

“For what?”

“You.”

Erik hides his surprise. “And just why were you waiting for me?”

“I thought that Shaw might,” Charles shakes his head. “Doesn't matter. You're alive at any rate.”

“For the moment.” Erik looks away at the river, his hands tightening on the reins.

If Charles would only leave, then Erik wouldn't have to look at him. Here in the morning sunlight, Charles looks even younger and far more attractive. His eyes, full of concern (concern over Erik, no less), his lips red and soft, the lower one looks slightly torn, as though he bit it while he waited and worried. Erik wants to run his thumb over that lip, feel where Charles's teeth caught it, and then...He shakes his head, scattering the images to the wind.

“You don't even have a gun with you,” He says disparagingly.

Charles flushes hotly. “Look, I was just worried. That's all.”

“Well, you can stop now. Just get on your horse and ride back to town.” Erik starts nudging his horse back to the road.

“I didn't bring one.” Charles mutters.

“What?”

“I don't have a horse with me.”

“You mean to tell me you walked out here.” Erik is beginning to wonder if Charles is a fool, or just completely naive. He sighs and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

Charles reaches for his hand and Erik pulls him up into the saddle behind him. Charles's hands settle tentatively on Erik's hips as they start back to town.

“What did Shaw want to see you about?” Charles asks.

“I don't really see how that's any of your concern,” Erik's doing his best to ignore the hands touching him, but the breath at his neck just serves to remind him how close Charles is.

“Well, I figured it had to do something with what happened last night.”

Erik neither confirms nor denies this.

“Did it?” Charles probes for more.

“Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't.”

“Are you always this laconic?” Charles inquires politely.

Erik stifles a smile. “Depends.”

“On?” Charles leans forward slightly, waiting for his answer. His chest is touching Erik's back, sending a rush of heat through Erik's body. Erik shifts slightly in his seat, wishing he wasn't quite so close to the saddle-horn.

“On the company.” Erik murmurs.

“Oh.” Charles settles back, contemplating this.

He's quiet for the remainder of the ride into town. When they reach the saloon, Charles dismounts first. Erik dismounts, and starts to tie the reins to the post again. Charles takes them from his hand.

“Let me. It's the least I can do for...”

“For what?” Erik says, uncomfortably. It was bad enough when his sister was offering herself to him in return for saving Charles. But this is a hundred times worse.

“For saving my life last night,” Charles says at last, looking him straight in the eye. “I wanted to say thank you.”

His eyes are the bluest Erik has ever seen in his thirty years of living. He wonders what they look like when Charles is about to come. Do they close in ecstasy because it's too much for him, or does he just keep looking at you until you drown in his eyes?

“Save it.” Erik says finally, but he lets Charles take the reins. He pretends not to see the hurt in Charles's eyes. He can't afford to lose himself in them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, there's a bit of an age difference. In this story, Charles is almost 22, and Erik's 30.

The saloon is deserted when he walks in. Since it's only a little after seven, this isn't surprising. Erik's tired enough that he could go back to bed right now, but his mind is restless and awake. He can't sleep now. He needs to do something, anything to keep himself distracted. 

There's a book lying on the table Charles was polishing earlier when Erik had left with Shaw's men. Erik picks it up. It's a well-read edition of _The Three Musketeers_. Erik hasn't read the book since he was a boy, but he remembers it fondly. On a whim he takes it back to his room. After hanging up his hat, coat and gun belt, he settles himself on the bed where he spends the next hour engrossed in the story. 

A knock at the door rouses him at last. Erik puts the book down, checks his gun, before calling, “Yes?”

The door opens. Raven's there, dressed in a light-blue cotton dress that reminds Erik of cornflowers and the summer sky. “Good morning. I was wondering if you wanted some breakfast.”

Erik opens his mouth to refuse, but he is hungry. Now that he's away from Shaw, he's practically starving. 

“Yes, I would.”

“Good,” She waits, smiling at him. 

Erik stands, brushing at his wrinkled trousers, holding the book under his arm.

“Oh, so that's where it went.” Raven laughs. “Charles was frantic.”

“I intended to return it.” Erik tells her as they walk down the stairs.

“I've no doubt, but Charles is a tad protective of his books. They were our father's, you see.”

“I see,” Erik doesn't really, but then he thinks of his mother's ring, and what he would do to get it back, and he understands a little better. 

Raven leads him back into the kitchen, calling out, “Charles. I found your book.”

“Where the devil was it?” Charles says crossly, coming in from the pantry. He stops at the sight of Erik holding the book.

“I only meant to borrow it,” Erik says, holding it out to him.

“That's...all right then, I mean, if you want to read it...please.” Charles makes no move to take it. 

“Perhaps another time.” Erik lays it on the table.

“For pete's sake, Charles, the eggs,” Raven motions to the stove.

“Damnit,” Charles runs to the stove. Raven waves Erik to a seat and goes to fetch some plates. 

Erik sits there in the kitchen, wondering, not for the first time, how on earth he managed to find himself here. 

“Hell,” Charles jerks a pan off the stove and sticks his thumb in his mouth, wincing at the burn. 

“Careful,” Erik murmurs. 

“I can cook, you know.” Charles says defensively. He moves another pan over to the burner. 

Raven brings in the plates and silverware. “Where's Moira?”

“She went to talk to Mr. Black.” Charles says grimly as he scoops the eggs out of the pan and puts them on the plates. 

“Again? How is that going to help?”

Charles shrugs. “I don't know.” He takes a pan of fried bread out of the oven and brings it over to the table. His eyes catch Erik's for a moment, and then he looks away. 

“Goddamnit,” Raven mutters under her breath. 

“It'll be okay.” Charles dishes up the sausage, and brings the plates over to the table. He sets one in front of Erik and one in front of Raven before sitting down himself.

“Aren't you eating?” Erik inquires. 

“Not hungry.” Charles says quietly.

“You have to eat, Charles.” Raven entreats him.

“I said I wasn't hungry,” 

There's an awkward silence as Raven picks at her food, and Charles just sits there staring at the bread.

 _This_ , thinks Erik, _is why I never do this sort of thing_. If the food wasn't so good, he would get up and leave right now. But it is good, and he's hungry, and unfortunately, he's interested now as well. _I'm going to regret this._ “Who's Mr. Black?”

“He owns the bank along with Shaw,” Raven starts to explain just as Charles hisses, “Shut up.”

“I was just,”

“No.” Charles gets up. “It's none of his concern.”

Erik winces internally. He never should have stopped in this town. But then he never would have found Shaw. He should do his best to stay out of the siblings' lives. It'll be for the best. He pushes his chair back and stands.

“Thanks for the meal.”

Charles doesn't look at him. He's pretending to be preoccupied with the dishes, loading them into a basin of water. Erik takes a couple coins from his pocket, leaves them by the plate along with the book. 

As he starts up the stairs, Moira enters the saloon and heads to the back. Erik's curiosity wants to know what happened with the banker, but his instincts keep him heading up the stairs. 

“Raven, Charles?” Moira steps into the kitchen.

“What'd he say?” Raven demands. 

Moira shakes her head and sinks into a chair. She doesn't know what to do next. Raven squeezes her shoulder and goes to pour her a cup of coffee. Charles has finished with the dishes. He turns and sees the coins Erik left on the table. 

Something hot and angry rises up inside him. He grabs the coins from the table and leaves the room, ignoring his sisters calling after him.

He goes up the stairs, his anger growing with each step till at last he stands in front of Erik's door. Taking a deep breath, Charles raps on the wood sharply.

“Yes?”

Charles enters the room, closing the door behind him. 

“What is it?” Erik's straddling the chair, resting his elbows on the back while he cleans his gun. He lowers it, looking at Charles questioningly.

“Here.” Charles drops the coins onto the dresser. “We don't want your money.”

“But the meal,”

“The meal was on the house.” Charles tells him flatly. “But after today, I'd prefer it if you took your meals elsewhere.” He can't explain why he's so angry, why it won't fade. 

“All right.” Erik stands up to get a cloth from his saddle bag. “But the food was half the reason I stayed here.”

“What's the other half?” Charles asks, telling himself it doesn't matter. 

“The company.” There's the slightest smile playing at the corner of Erik's lips. 

Charles stares at it, taking a step forward before he realizes what he's doing. “Why did you do it?” He can't say any more. The rest of the words won't come. 

Erik knows what he wants, but he doesn't want to tell him. He can't tell Charles why, when it was pure gut instinct that moved his hand, not logical thought. “Like I told Shaw, it was interrupting my game.”

“Horseshit,” Charles says succinctly. “Why?”

Erik drops the rag he was polishing the gun with and faces him. “Because I didn't want your sisters to see you killed in front of them.” His words are toneless, empty. There's a silence to them that weighs heavily in the room. Charles absorbs this, puzzling over it in his mind. 

“You didn't have to.”

“You're right, I didn't.” Erik moves forward, closer to him. “But I did. It's just a thing that happened, Charles. It doesn't mean anything.” He nods at the door. “You should go.”

“Why'd you see Shaw then?” Charles asks. He knows he should leave; that this is the last moment where he can safely retreat before he's too entangled in this man's mystery, but he can't go, not just yet.

“He wanted to offer me a job.”

Charles catches his breath. “Did you take it?” Erik _can't_ have. He can't have agreed to work for Shaw.

Erik looks him straight in the eye. “I took it. A man would be a fool not to.”

The punch Charles throws then is clumsy and slightly off. Yet it would have caught a slower man right on the jaw. Unfortunately for Charles, Erik has always been a quick mover. 

He catches Charles's arm and brings it around behind him, yanking tightly. 

“Ow!” Charles struggles as pain shoots up his arm, but Erik pushes him over to the bed forcing him down on it. Charles thrashes wildly, but Erik holds him firmly, pressing him hard onto the bed. He's straddling Charles, holding his arm with one hand, keeping Charles's torso still with his thighs. With his other hand he pulls Charles's head back by the hair.

“Now listen here, boy, what I do is my business. Whatever jobs I take, that's my business. It's nothing to do with you, or your sisters, or whatever goddamn situation you're stuck in, is that understood?”

Charles stays silent. Erik tugs on his hair slightly. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” Charles bites out. 

“Good.” Erik loosens his grip on Charles's hair. 

In that instant, Charles pushes himself up with his free hand. Bucking back against Erik, he throws him off. Erik rolls, but he's still holding Charles's arm. They land in a heap on the hard wood floor. Charles groans, and tries to shift away, but Erik's straddling him again, keeping him from going anywhere. 

“Not a bad move.” He drawls. 

Charles glares up at him. “Let me go.” He's painfully aware of how close Erik is to him. It's as though the man's body heat is seeping through his clothes and touching Charles all over. He shifts again, hoping desperately that what he thinks is about to happen isn't actually happening. No such luck.

Erik feels a stirring against his thigh and looks down in surprise. The boy's getting hard from this. He stares at Charles who's looking anywhere but at him. His cheeks are red with embarrassment. Erik leans over him, cupping his jaw as he makes Charles look at him. 

“Charles, it's nothing to be ashamed of.” Erik doesn't know why he's bothering. He should just make the boy leave. But the way Charles is tensed beneath him makes Erik want to reassure him.“Charles,” he says again.

Charles looks up at him, swallowing nervously. Erik gazes down at those blue eyes, and knows, in that instant, he's already lost. That's the only rational explanation he has for what he does next. 

Leaning down, he presses his lips to Charles, kissing him there on the bedroom floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik's drowning as Charles arches up to kiss him back. His lips are warm, hungry, kissing Erik eagerly. Charles's hair is soft under his fingertips as Erik cradles the back of his head. He's lost as Charles utters a helpless little moan at the back of his throat. His thumb moves along Charles's throat, feeling the rope burn tenderly. Charles hisses softly and Erik pulls back. He shouldn't be doing this. Of all things to start now, this is a mistake... It's agony to leave those lips, Charles's lips are so red and full as he stares up at Erik, dazed.

“You should go.” Erik sits back. Charles's body is still so warm beneath his. Right there. A surge of lust shoots through Erik, and he stands quickly.

“What?” Charles looks as though he doesn't understand English.

Erik moves away from him. “Get out, now.” Christ, Charles isn't even twenty-two yet. He's probably been sheltered all his life. The last thing he needs is for Erik to seduce him.

“Why?” Charles demands as he gets up. His hair is all tousled, his lips still plump, begging for Erik to kiss them again.

“I don't have to explain myself to you.” Erik's voice is like winter.

“ _You_ just kissed _me_. I think that deserves some explanation.” Charles is standing his ground.

“Get out.” Erik needs to make Charles leave before he loses all his willpower.

His anger must show because this time Charles does what he says, slamming the door behind him.

Erik pours himself a shot of whiskey and knocks it back. The burn jolts him back to reality. What the devil had he been thinking? Kissing Charles? Of all the things he could have done...What was he even doing here? He should just ride straight back to the ranch and kill Shaw. Now. Right now.

Instead he sinks down on the bed, lying there, staring at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he's helpless against the memories that assault him.

* * *

_Gray sky. Thunder clouds. The rain keeps coming down. His father's eyes are still, unseeing as they stare up into the dark sky. Blood trickles out of the bullet hole in his chest._

_They shot him right there in the yard._

_Erik is running for the gun his father keeps in his bedroom when the man catches him. He knocks Erik to the ground with a blow. Erik lands in the mud. They kick at him as he tries to crawl away, but there's only more boots everywhere he turns. One kick catches his face and his lips crack. Erik can taste the blood, the rain, the dirt._

_“That's enough.” A voice said._

_And Erik had hoped, in that instant, that it was over._

_He can't forgive himself for that moment. That moment where he actually thought Shaw would help. He looks up and sees a man standing there, looking at the house, studying it._

_“This'll do.” He says at last. “Bring him inside.”_

_They drag Erik up the steps into the house. He's dripping mud and rainwater everywhere, but for once his mother doesn't complain. She's frozen in fear, staring at the intruders standing in her kitchen._

_“Let him go,” She whispers._

_“Who, him?” Shaw points at Erik. “Oh, no. He'd probably run straight to the sheriff, wouldn't he?” He grins, unfastening his gun-belt, then his hat, making himself at home. “You should have taught him better, taught him to respect his elders.”_

_She runs then, trying to escape, to reach her son. Shaw catches her wrist and pulls her to him. His hand cups her breast, squeezing it, as he grins at her. She slaps him and Shaw backhands her across the face. Erik struggles, but all that earns him is a cuff to the head. He can't get free to help his mother._

_“That wasn't very nice.” Shaw drags her to the center of the room and throws her to the floor. Kicking her legs apart, he grins at Erik._

_“You better watch this, boy. Or I'll shoot your mama right as I'm fucking her.”_

_His mother's crying as Shaw tears her petticoat, settling between her legs._

_“Close your eyes, Erik,” his mother sobs._

_He wants to obey her. He wants to so badly. But Shaw just winks at him. Erik's eyes stay open._

* * *

Erik jerks on the bed. The room is spinning. He's not _there_. He's here, in this room. His heart is pounding and his shirt is soaked with sweat.

He sits up, trying to breathe more calmly. Touching the gun by the bed helps him focus. His mind clears. He can do this. He's hunted Shaw for nineteen years. He's come close to catching him a few times but now he's finally found him. Erik's hand strokes the barrel of the gun. His finger slides over the trigger like a lover. This time he won't fail.

* * *

Charles goes downstairs. His face is hot with embarrassment at the whole situation. Worse, he's still aroused. He goes through the kitchen, ignoring Raven saying his name, and goes out to the back to the horse trough. Scooping up a handful of water, Charles splashes it at his face. He does it a second time, and a third, till he feels like he can breathe again.

“What's with you?” Raven asks from the back stoop.

“Nothing.” Charles dips his hand in the water and rubs it at his neck. Now he's damp and still aroused. He wishes...oh god, he wishes for so many things.

“Charles.”

“Leave me alone, Raven? Just this once, please?”

Silently she goes back inside. Charles slumps down beside the trough. He's so confused, and hurt. It sounds foolish to admit it, but he is. One minute Erik's kissing him, really kissing him like it matters, like he wants Charles with every fiber of his being. And then he just turns it off.

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. He should have known it was too good to be true. But it had felt so good, so right.

His erection isn't going away, not while he's remembering the kissing. So Charles gets up, looks around, and slips inside the barn. He goes into the last empty stall and unfastens his trousers with hurried, trembling hands. As his fingers touch his cock, meeting hot desperate skin, he sighs with relief. Closing his eyes, Charles strokes himself with tight, needy strokes. All he can think of is Erik – kissing him, Erik's mouth, the way his body had pressed against Charles, like they fit together. With a muffled groan, Charles comes, his cock pulsing in his hand,

Charles blinks, returning to himself. He looks at his hand in disgust, wiping it off on a piece of sacking. Then he does his trousers up and returns to the house, after he's washed his hands in the trough.

To his annoyance Erik is in the kitchen. The man glances at him and then away, continuing his conversation with Moira.

“Surely there's some place in town that does laundry?” He's holding a bundle of clothing.

“Mrs. Engels does washing, but there's no need to go to her.” Moira takes his clothes from Erik's hands before he can protest. “I can do that here.”

“That's very kind, but I don't think.”

“Kind.” Moira shakes her head. “No...you saved my brother's life, Erik. This isn't kindness.”

Erik looks away uncomfortably. His eyes meet Charles and then they both glance away silently.

“Charles, put the kettle on will you?” Moira asks.

Charles obeys, glad to have something to do so he won't have to look at Erik. His mouth still remembers how Erik's mouth tasted as they kissed.

“You better have that shirt off as well.” Moira says firmly. “Might as well get it all done.”

Erik shrugs, but starts unbuttoning his shirt. Charles keeps his back turned, but he can't help glancing over his shoulder to peek.

Erik's body is lean and tan. Every bit of him is muscle. Charles looks at his forearms, remembering how it felt to be pinned down. He swallows tightly. This isn't going to help. He keeps his head resolutely turned away.

Moira sets the clothes and basin on the table before going into the pantry to fetch the soap.

“What else have you read?” Erik breaks the uncomfortable silence first.

“Pardon?” Charles glances at him, then looks back at the kettle. Damn Erik for just standing there half naked. Damn Moira for taking his shirt away. Damn Erik and his goddamn nipples. Charles licks his lips while focusing on the kettle. If he thinks about how they'd feel under his tongue, he's done for.

“Besides _The Three Musketeers_.” Erik clarifies. He wishes Charles would face him. Staring at his ass isn't doing Erik any good.

“Oh...” Charles thinks for a moment. “Some Dickens. Jules Verne, Dostoyevsky, Swift.” Charles trails off awkwardly. He doesn't want to brag.

“Very impressive.” Erik leans against the table.

“What about you?” Charles ventures.

“I confess I find Dickens rather dry.” Erik admits. “The characters don't appeal to me. I prefer Mark Twain. Or Robert Louis Stevenson.”

“That's just...” Charles shakes his head. “Dickens's appeal lies in the fact his characters are such that the ordinary reader can relate to them. Take Oliver Twist or Nicholas Nickleby. Their struggles are ones that anyone can sympathize with.”

“And what are the two of you talking about,” Moira returns with the soap, Raven right behind her.

“We were having a literary discussion.” Erik says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Ah, well, that could go on for hours.” Raven sets about making coffee.

Charles opens his mouth and then shuts it again. It's true. He could talk for hours about the books he loves so much. They were his only form of escape when he was younger, and even now the stories remain a haven from the outside world.

“It could.” Erik muses. “By the way, Shaw told me to give you a message.”

The friendly atmosphere in the room shrivels like a withered flower.

“What is it?” Moira asked quietly.

“He said he'd see you tonight.”

Moira simply nods and continues washing. Raven stirs the coffee, not looking up. However, the words serve to remind Charles what Erik said right _after_. “He's working for Shaw.” The words taste bitter on his tongue.

“What?”

“Shaw offered him a job and he took it.” The fleeting pleasure he had in the conversation he and Erik just shared is gone.

Moira looks from him to Erik. “Then what's he still doing here?”

“Ask him.”

They all look at Erik who shrugs amiably. “I told him I thought it would be a good idea if he had a man in town.”

Raven stares at him incredulously. “So it's true.”

Erik nods. He's careful not to look at Charles.

“But why?” Raven protests. “After the other night, how could you?”

“Raven,” Moira says quietly. “I'm sure Erik has his reasons.”

“They're probably all monetary.” Charles says in disgust. He goes out.

Raven just stares at Erik. “How could you?”

“Moira's right.” Erik says quietly. “I have my reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Raven,” Moira admonishes her.

Erik wouldn't know where to begin even if he wanted to tell her. Instead he looks at Moira. “Thanks again for the laundry.”

“It's no trouble, Erik. I'll let you know when it's done.”

He nods and goes upstairs.

* * *

Erik spends the rest of the afternoon in his room pacing and smoking. It's a warm afternoon, so he doesn't mind the lack of a shirt. At one point, he catches his reflection in the mirror. Erik stops and looks at himself, remembering how Charles had kissed him back. He can't help wondering what it would be like to have Charles underneath him stripped of his clothes, naked and willing and _there_.

When his shirt's dry Erik walks down the street for a meal. The Blue Diamond is indeed very fine for a town this size. The food is perfectly acceptable. Erik loathes every bite.

As soon as he's finished, he walks back to the saloon and joins the card game.

Around nine o'clock, Erik goes into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and finds the girls gathered around, drinking coffee and sharing a smoke. Raven introduces him to them.“This is Angel, this is Jean, that's Jubilee, and here's Marie.”

Erik tips his hat to them. They all smile at him in a friendly fashion. They don't look like any of the whores he's ever met before.

“We better get back out there,” Angel says, taking a last sip of coffee.

“Raven, are you going to sing that number about the gold strike and the girl with the yellow hair?” Marie asks at the doorway.

“Maybe. Why?”

“I've got a regular who always cries over it, and then he's a lot easier to manage.” She winks and goes out. The others follow her.

“They're lovely,” Erik murmurs.

“Moira looks after them.” Raven tells him. “If they have to earn a living like this, she sees that they're taken care of, the best that they can be.”

“Your sister is an unusual woman,” Erik remarks. “She's lucky to have you and Charles.”

“We're lucky to have her.” Raven corrects him, putting the coffeepot back on the stove. “When we were little, I resented her...but once you got to know her, it was impossible to dislike her. She made up for everything else.” She looks away. “He didn't like that.”

“Who?”

“Our father. He didn't like that the three of us were friends. He was always trying to set us against each other, even when he died...he left Moira some money, but only enough that if she wanted to do anything, she'd have to get a loan from the bank. It wasn't enough to do what she really wanted.” There's a catch in her voice.

“And what was that?”

“She promised to send Charles to school back east. It's what he's always wanted. He could have sent Charles any time, but he couldn't bear the thought of any of us escaping to lead our own lives.” Tears trickle down her cheeks. Before he knows what he's doing, Erik reaches out an arm and draws her close. Raven buries her face in his shirt as she cries, quiet, aching sobs. Erik simply holds her until her crying subsides.

“There,” She pulls away at last, wiping at her eyes. “I'm sorry. I don't...usually.”

“It's all right.” Erik tells her. “Now, why don't you go wash your face. You'll feel better.”

“Thank you, Erik.” She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek before leaving the kitchen.

Erik finishes his coffee and goes back to the game.

* * *

The hours drag by slowly. Erik keeps one eye on the clock, and one on the game. Nine-thirty, ten, ten-thirty. By eleven, he figures Shaw isn't coming. It makes him feel antsy, itching for a fight, any kind of violence to take his mind off Shaw's absence.

There's a table of ranch hands, celebrating the end of a successful cattle drive. They've gotten progressively drunker and louder as the evening wore on. Finally one of them picks up a chair and smashes it over the table. “More whiskey!” He bellows. His friends cheer.

“I think you've already had enough.”

Erik looks at the bar. Charles is facing the man, hands flat on the bar. _Where the hell is Moira?_ Erik's hand is on his gun, just in case the men start causing actual trouble.

“Shut your mouth, boy and bring us more whiskey.” The man tosses a chair leg at Charles's head. Charles simply leans out of its path and lets it clatter on the floor.

“I think it's time for you and your friends to leave.”

The hand approaches the bar, grabbing at a bottle of whiskey standing on the counter. “Think you can tell us what to do? You little bastard.” He sneers the words at Charles. “Never managed to get your daddy to marry your whore of a mama, did you? She was probably too busy spreading her legs for all of his hands.” He cackles loudly, spittle flying from his lips.

Charles's expression doesn't change. “I'll ask you again. Please leave.”

The man ignores him. “Where's that sister of yours? Bet she takes after your mama, eh? Bet she's got a thatch of that pretty red hair right between her legs. Let's have her out and see.” He starts toward the corner where Raven is leaning against the piano talking to Alex, the piano player.

Charles simply reaches behind the bar and takes out a rifle. “Back away from my sister.”

The man looks at him and chuckles. “Boy, you ain't gonna shoot no one. You ain't got the guts.” He takes a swig of whiskey and laughs.

“Do you really want to take the risk?” Charles asks softly.

“Suck my prick.” The man leers and turns to keep going toward Raven.

Charles fires calmly. The whiskey bottle in the man's hand shatters, sending whiskey and glass everywhere.

The man stares at his hand. “You,”

“The next round will be between your legs. The third through your forehead. Do you really think it's worth it?” Charles's hands are steady on the gun.

“Come on, Billy,” The man's friends are ready to leave. They don't want any trouble. Billy finally lets himself be persuaded and they leave at last. Relief spreads through the room.

“That boy isn't half bad.” One of the car players observes. “I wouldn't mess with him.”

Erik says nothing, but his eyes follow Charles as he gets a broom and starts cleaning up the broken glass.


	5. Chapter 5

A little after midnight, Moira announces the bar is closing for the night. She shoos the lingering card players out, ignoring their grumblings and attempts to order a last beer. 

“You can always continue your game tomorrow, goodnight.” She locks the outer doors in place, and breathes a sigh of relief. 

“It's been a long night.” She murmurs. Erik can't help noticing that the weary lines at her eyes and mouth are growing more pronounced. Shaw's games are taking their toll on her. Erik adds another reason to the long list of reasons Shaw needs to die. 

“I'll get the lamps,” Raven tells her. “You go on to bed.” 

Moira smiles at her thankfully and goes into the kitchen. Erik tosses his last drink back and follows her. He hasn't seen Charles since right after the shooting. After he cleaned up the glass, he disappeared into the kitchen and didn't come back. 

Moira's finishing tidying up the kitchen, pouring the last of the coffee into a cup and getting a fresh pot ready for the morning. She looks up as Erik enters. 

“I take it you didn't expect Shaw to actually show.” Erik leans in the doorway. 

“Not so much, no,” Moira admits. She offers the coffee to Erik. He shakes his head, and she cradles the cup in her hands, looking down at it.

“He said he'd be here.” The tension hasn't left Erik's neck. He's still expecting Shaw to walk through the door, and grin at them. The ghost of Erik's childhood made flesh again. The man who's haunted his past, now walking the streets of the present like he owns them. In a way Shaw does. He's the only thing Erik's been able to focus on since he hit town. Well, other than Charles. 

“He likes to do that,” Moira says wearily. “He'll show. Just not tonight. It'll be two or three days before he comes into town. It's a game to him, to try and rattle me.” She sets the coffee down and goes over to the stove. 

“Does it work?”

“The first couple of times, yes. I'd lie awake at night, thinking every single noise was him. Eventually I realized what he was doing.” Moira puts another log on the fire and closes the stove door, resting her hands on her knees. “You get used to it, same as everything else.”

“How much do you owe him?” For a moment, Erik thinks she'll tell him to mind his own business. He wouldn't blame her. 

“Five thousand dollars...it was a loan to get this place started. The money my father left me wasn't nearly enough.” She looks up at Erik. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. You could go straight to Shaw. Not that the information's worth anything...just.” She stands and reaches for her apron, untying it and hanging it up on the hook near the door. 

“You know I won't.”

“Yes,” Moira says, slightly troubled. “Somehow, I know that. I just don't know why I trust you, when I've got no reason to.” 

“You trust me because you know Shaw.” Erik's not sure if that makes sense to anyone else, but Moira nods. 

“Maybe that's it. Maybe it isn't. I just know I do.” She turns down the lamp.

“Why do you stay?” Erik asks, curious. If his life hadn't been changed all those years ago, he wouldn't be hunting Shaw now. If he encountered the man as they had...what would he do? He has no answer for himself. 

“This is my home.” She says simply. 

“Not the ranch?”

“My father's ranch was never my home.” Moira starts down the hallway, then pauses, turning back to look at Erik from the shadow of the hallway. “Goodnight, Erik.”

“Goodnight.” 

* * * 

The saloon is bathed in silence. Erik goes upstairs to his room where he starts to pace yet again. The same path in the floorboards that he's paced in this room ever since he arrived in town. It's a soothing pattern, fifteen steps to the door, fifteen back to the wall. Three to the side, if he turns toward the bed. Six back to the other wall. He counts steps and paces, trying to drown out the memories in his mind. 

Gun-belt and hat discarded, Erik unbuttons his shirt and tosses it over the back of the hair. He lies down, hoping against hope that tonight he'll be able to simply sleep. It doesn't do any good. He can't sleep. At last he gives up and goes downstairs, clad only in his jeans, out to the back for a smoke. To his surprise, Charles is already there, sitting on the steps, balancing a bottle between his knees. 

Charles looks up at him. “Oh, it's you.” He takes a swig. He sounds more than a little drunk already. He eyes Erik's chest. "And your nipples."

Erik half chokes on laughter. "Yep. I brought them." 

Charles shrugs expansively and tilts the bottle back again. 

“You plan on drinking that all by yourself?” Erik asks, reaching for his rolling papers. 

“Yes,” Charles says, taking another long swallow. “Every. Last. Drop.”

Erik rolls his cigarette, licks it, sticks it in his mouth while fishing in his pockets for his matches. “That was a good shot earlier.”

Charles snorts and takes another a drink.

“Mind telling me where you learned to shoot like that?” Erik lights his match, holding it to the cigarette till it glows. 

“My father taught me,” Charles looks at the bottle in his hands. “I was the only son he had, so he said I had to learn. He used to make me practice, over and over and over. Till I could hit the target. If I didn't hit it...” He trails off, remembering. “Anyway, I don't much like guns.”

“They're useful enough.” Erik takes a long drag on his smoke. 

“They can be,” Charles agrees. “In the right hands. In the wrong hands, they're simply tools for murder and chaos.” He hiccups slightly.

“So which are mine?” Erik leans back against the railing, taking another drag. 

Charles licks his lips, and looks up at him. “I think you're capable of good things. I've _seen_ that you're capable of good things. You saved me the first night you were here.”

“Don't kid yourself.” Erik looks out at the night. The breeze across the desert is cool and welcome after the heat of the day.

Charles giggles. “I'm not. Believe me. I know exactly what you are. And I don't care.” He gulps down another long swallow. 

“You should probably stop there.” Erik rescues the bottle from Charles's grasp. 

“No,” Charles grabs it back. “I need it.”

“You need it.” Erik repeats skeptically. 

“Yes” Charles says firmly. “To remind myself that he's dead. That it doesn't matter.”

“Who?”

“My father.” Charles stares out at the desert. “It shouldn't matter.” He sighs, and starts slumping sidewise. 

“Charles, hey, Charles,” Erik shakes his head gently. It's no good, Charles is half leaning into him now. “Where do you sleep?” He might as well put the kid to bed. 

“With you.” Charles's hand coils around his neck. “That'd be nice.” He yawns, his head falling against Erik's chest, as he buries his face against Erik's skin. “Nice an...cozy, and nice.”

“Yes, but would you think it was so nice in the morning?” Erik sighs. He doubts it. Charles's hand around his neck is warm and comfortable.

Scooping the boy up in his arms, he carries Charles up the stairs and into his room. Depositing Charles on the bed, he looks down at the sleeping figure. Erik eases his boots off and tucks the blanket over him. Charles murmurs something under his breath, but doesn't wake.

Erik takes his bedroll and stretches out on the floor. It's hard and uncomfortable. He's slept on worse, but tonight he just can't settle down. After a few minutes, he gets up, pushes Charles over slightly and crawls in beside him. The boy's warmth is welcome after the chill of the floor. Erik closes his eyes. 

There are lips on his back. Erik opens one eye. Warm, wet lips kissing a random pattern along his spine. His cock twitches as the mouth moves lower and lower down his back. Then there are hands on his ass, pulling at his jeans. 

Erik rolls over to face Charles. The move might be a mistake since those same hands are now on his crotch. Charles is half asleep as he paws at Erik lazily. “Just lemme.” He kisses the center of Erik's chest, licking across his left nipple, then lower until his mouth is right above Erik's navel. 

“Charles, you should stop.” Erik catches his hands, pulling Charles away from his crotch.

“Why're youno fun.” Charles complains. “Alla I want isa taste.” 

“I can guarantee you'll regret that in the morning if I let you.” Erik touches his cheek, trying not to notice how Charles rubs against his hand sleepily. “Just, go to sleep, Charles.”

Charles mutters something, but finally curls up against him and sleeps. Erik watches him for a few moments, then finally drifts off. It's the first time he's fallen asleep that easily in years.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles opens his eyes slowly. There's skin, bare skin right in front of his eyes. Skin that looks strangely familiar. He squints. Somebody's back. He's sleeping nestled up to somebody's back, and it's a man. Charles sits up cautiously, well aware that his hand was on the man's hip...

And he's hard again. Well, half anyway. Charles crawls to the foot of the bed, climbing over the frame. His head hurts like somebody's banging a gong inside it, but he manages to stand up and slowly turns around to face the bed. It's Erik, still sleeping soundly. Charles just stares at him dumbfounded, until at last he slips out of the room. He sneaks quietly down the stairs. Halfway down, he realizes he doesn't have his boots. Swearing under his breath, Charles goes back to the room. He opens the door only to find Erik awake.

“Uh,” Charles says very articulately.

“Looking for something?” Erik inquires, sitting up.

“My boots.”

“Over there.” Erik nods to behind the door.

Charles grabs them, then finally looks at Erik again. “How'd I end up here?”

“You were drunk,” Erik says matter-of-factly. “And sleepy. I didn't know which room was yours, so...” He keeps the bit about Charles kissing him to himself.

“Ah, well, thanks.” Charles goes out.

He goes straight out back and sticks his head in the trough. The cold water hits him like a shock, and he straightens, spluttering. Damnit, he's going to regret every last drop of whiskey he drank last night.

He wipes his face dry on his sleeve and goes back into the kitchen. Moira's got a cup of coffee waiting for him. “Here.”

Charles sinks into a chair, taking the coffee gratefully. Moira squeezes his shoulder, before she sets about making breakfast.

Charles sips at his coffee. He vaguely remembers sitting out back and drinking, but after that...there's only bits and pieces. He gets a flash suddenly of kissing Erik's back, trying to get into his pants. Charles groans and lays his head down on the table.

“You all right?” Moira looks at him with concern.

“Just dandy.” Charles buries his face in his arms. He can never look Erik in the eye again.

Unfortunately, Moira seems to have other ideas. “Charles, please take Erik's laundry up to him.” She sets a pile of freshly laundered clothes on the table beside him.

“What?” Charles looks up at her.

“You heard me.”

“Moira, please...my head.”

“It was your own decision to get drunk last night,” She states firmly. “It doesn't excuse you from helping out around here. Come on, the horses need to be watered after that, and the window frame in room four needs to be mended.”

Muttering under his breath, Charles picks up the clothes. He doesn't want to go upstairs and face Erik again. Now that he's remembered what happened last night. Partly at least. What if there was more? Charles groans to himself.

He carries the laundry upstairs, dread in every single step. When he reaches Erik's door, he pauses, takes a deep breath and knocks.

“Come in.”

Charles pushes the door open. Erik's standing at the mirror, shaving. Charles takes in his bare back, the way his jeans hang loose on his hips without his belt and has a distinct memory of trying to get those jeans off Erik's ass last night. If he could, he'd like to sink straight through the floorboards, never to be seen again.

“Yeah?” Erik looks over his shoulder, eying him.

“Your laundry.” Charles holds it up.

“Ah, thanks.” Erik taps the razor against the basin. “Just put 'em on the bed.”

“Yessir,” Charles says exaggeratedly.

Erik wipes his face on the towel and turns to face him. “Something wrong, Charles?”

_So many things, it would take too long to count. You still having clothes on. My hangover. Everything in this damn town. Shaw._

Charles shakes his head. He sets the pile of clothes down on the bed, and goes out.

* * *

That night Erik heads once again to the Blue Diamond for a meal. He doesn't make it halfway down the street before Raven catches up with him.

“You can't eat there,” She takes his hand, pulling him along the sidewalk.

“And why's that?” Erik lets her, amused as she leads him back to the saloon.

“Charles is making chili. Believe me, you don't want to miss it.”

“If you say so.”

Sure enough the kitchen smells delicious. Erik hesitates in the doorway, Raven's finally let go of his hand. Charles is stirring a large pot on the stove. He looks up, sees Erik and looks away.

“Sit down.” Raven pours them each a glass of milk. “Charles, hurry up. I'm starving."

“In a minute.” He adds another pinch of salt and stirs it in.

Erik sits down. There's an odd feeling floating around him. He can't place it at first. He realizes what it is finally when Raven sits down beside him, and Moira gets fresh cornbread out of the oven. Charles is dishing up large bowls of chili. His fingers linger on the bowl he places in front of Erik, and then they move away.

It feels like home.

The sensation jolts Erik so hard he knocks his milk over. Charles catches his glass just at the same time as he reaches for it. Their hands touch, and for a moment, without meaning to, Erik smiles.

Charles just looks at him across the table, finally drawing his hand back. Raven grins at him.

“Stop that,” Charles mutters under his breath.

“Let's eat.” Moira smiles around the table and starts passing the cornbread.

* * *

“Charles, that was delicious.” Erik brings his empty bowl over to the basin of dirty dishes. His mouth is pleasantly on fire from the various spices despite the glass of milk.

Charles breaks into a grin before he can help himself. “Thanks.” He pours fresh water into the basin, adding soap.

“You want some help?” Erik asks, nodding at the dishes.

Charles looks at him. “You serious?”

“One time offer.”

“Well, all right then.” Charles tosses him a towel. “You can dry.”

They settle into an easy rhythm. Charles washes the dishes, hands them to Erik, who dries them and puts them away, with Charles directing him as to where they belong.

When they're finished, Erik hangs up his towel. “Well, I guess I'll be joining the card game.” He hesitates, looking at Charles.

“Yes, of course.” Charles dries his hands on his jeans. “They're probably a few hands ahead of you by now.” He doesn't look up again, so Erik goes out to the main room.

* * *

The evening passes without trouble. Erik plays poker, and does his best not to watch Charles behind the bar. Charles tends bar and reads when he has a spare moment. He bites his lip without realizing it whenever he's deeply absorbed in the story. Erik doesn't even try to convince himself that he doesn't find that attractive. His poker suffers for it, but he can't find it in him to care.

Shaw doesn't show that night either. Moira finally closes the saloon at two. Erik spends the night in his room smoking and trying to sleep. This time he doesn't go downstairs, so he has no idea whether Charles is in his own room or not. Erik tells himself that it's better this way. Sometimes it's easier to believe a lie.

For once Erik sleeps late the next morning. When he wakes, and stretches comfortably in bed...it occurs to Erik that he's getting complacent. He's stayed too long in one place. He needs to move on. Just as soon as he finishes his business with Shaw, he'll ride out of town without a backward glance.


	7. Chapter 7

It's the third evening when Shaw finally arrives in town. A dozen men ride in with him. They file into the saloon silently, staking out two tables away from the bar.

Moira keeps an eye on them, but doesn't make any move to approach them. Charles is helping tend bar. Raven's singing on the stage. Erik sits back in his chair, listening to her as he keeps an eye on Shaw. She has a lovely voice, deserving of a better audience than the ranch hands, card players and drunks inhabiting this two-bit town.

“Erik,” Shaw waves him over. “Join us.”

Erik does, feeling Charles's eyes on his back. He doesn't look over at the man, doing his best to pretend Charles doesn't even exist.

They play poker. Shaw is an easy-going card player, joking and laughing with his men. Erik's half tempted to relax, to take things easy...but Shaw came into town for a reason, and Erik still has the notion that that reason isn't well intended.

He feels justified when Shaw tilts his hat back on his forehead and tosses his cards down on the table. “That's enough of that.” Shaw looks around, scanning the room. His mouth quirks upward in a smile when he sees Moira looking at him...he looks over his shoulder and finds Raven watching him from the stage.

“Moira, why don't you bring out your girls.” Shaw calls over to her. “I want to see them before I decide which one I want to bed.”

“Shaw,” Moira starts.

Shaw sighs and snaps his fingers. Four of his men head upstairs. They return with the girls, hauling Angel and Jean, Jubilee and Marie along by the arms. The men line them up in front of the stage and wait for Shaw.

Shaw puts his feet up on the table, resting his linked fingers on his belly. “They're all pretty enough.” He muses. “But I have a taste for something special.” He licks his lips and smirks at Raven.

Moira heads around the bar. “Shaw, you can't.” Charles is a step behind her.

Two of his men train their guns on her and Charles. Moira freezes. The warning is plain as day.

Shaw shakes his head and turns back to the girls. “Fact of the matter is, all my men deserve a treat. So we'll take them in turns. We'll start with the best, naturally. This is how it works, gentlemen. High card gets the redhead. Low card gets her.” He jerks his head at Angel.

Moira's hand tightens around Charles's forearm. “Don't.” She whispers.

“But,” Charles stares at her incredulously. They can't just let this happen.

“Just don't, Charles.” Moira looks at Raven; their eyes meet across the room. It's a hopeless moment of clarity and acceptance as Moira knows her younger sister will do anything, even this, to keep her and Charles safe. Moira wants to weep, but she won't let herself. Not in front of Shaw.

“Now, let's see.” Shaw looks around the room at his men, his gaze stopping at Erik. “Erik. You deserve second draw.”

“Why's he get to be in the draw?” One of the others objects. “He hasn't even proved himself yet.”

Shaw barely glances at him. “I pick who I want, Renton. Back off.”

The man does, grumbling under his breath. Charles stares at Erik as the man rises to stand beside the table. Shaw picks up his card, revealing a jack.

He smirks at Raven. “Oh, you're going to enjoy this.”

Raven ignores him, her eyes on Erik as he turns over his card.

“I think she'll enjoy me even more.” Erik says blithely, tossing his ace down.

Shaw chuckles. “She's all yours.” Amusement coats his tongue.

* * *

Erik walks over to the stage and offers his hand to Raven. She hesitates only a moment, glancing at Charles quickly, before placing her hand in Erik's. She leads the way up the stars to the last room, not speaking until they're safely alone.

“Well?” Raven locks the door and turns to face Erik. "Now what?"

“Now we wait.” Erik tosses his hat to the bed and cracks his neck. It's been a long night, and it isn't over yet.

“Did you fix the cards?” Raven demands.

“Of course.” Erik smiles at her. “You're much too good for the likes of Cal.”

“But not good enough for you.” Raven says boldly.

Erik sighs. He sits down on the bed, trying to think of the right words. “Raven, you're a clever, beautiful young woman, and you should be with someone who deserves you.”

“And you think you don't?” She asks softly, sitting down beside him.

“I know I don't. Raven, what's the worst thing you've ever done in your entire life?”

She thinks back, sorting through pranks and lies. “I lied about going to church once. I went for a ride in the desert instead. My father was furious.”

Erik chuckles. “There, that's perfect.” He wonders if it's nice to have that be the worst thing on your conscience. Such a thing wouldn't even wake you in the night.

“It's not because I'm too young?” Raven ventures.

“There's no such thing. You're at the right age to discover exactly what you want, _who_ you want. You're perfect just as you are, Raven, and some day you will meet someone deserving of that perfection.”

She smiles up at him, and for a second, Erik doesn't resist the urge as he kisses her lightly on the lips.

“There.” He says softly. Heaven help him after this moment.

"There.” Raven echoes. She looks down at her hands, twisting them on her lap. “At least it's easier for me than it is for Charles.”

“Oh?” Erik glances at her.

“Yes, he says it's hard enough to find a good man if you're a woman, but if you're a man,” She breaks off, blushing furiously. “Oh, you can't tell him I told you that. You _can't_. He'll never forgive me. Please, Erik.”

“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” Erik says lightly. He doesn't let himself think of Charles. Not just yet.

“That's one good thing about us, I suppose,” Raven says moodily. “Our father never tried to marry us off.” She grins slightly. “Nobody would have us.”

“And why's that?” Erik leans back against the headboard. Might as well get comfortable, he reasons.

“Haven't you heard by now?” Raven looks at him in surprise. “Charles and I are illegitimate.”

“No, I hadn't heard.”

“You see...our father married Moira's mother, who died giving birth to Moira. A few years later he fell in love with the daughter of one of his herders. She was three quarters English, one quarter Spanish, that's how we got the name. He took her, and kept her as his housekeeper, but everyone knew she was his mistress. He never married her. That's why, the other night with the ranch hands...”

“I see.”

Raven gives a little sigh. “Should we go down?”

“In a bit,” Erik smiles. “Let's give them something to wonder about at least.”

Raven smiles at that.

They talk for a while longer. The time passes quickly enough. Erik doesn't want to leave the quiet safety of the room. It's the most relaxed he's felt in days.

At last Erik rises from the bed. “We should go.”

Raven pauses in front of the mirror. She fixes her hair slightly, before smiling at Erik over her shoulder. “All right.”

At the door, Raven stops. Worry clouds her eyes. “You promise you won't tell Charles?”

“I promise.” Erik wants to clear the worry from her eyes. It's the least he can do.

* * *

Raven's smiling as they leave the room, but her smile has fled by the time they reach the stairs and survey the sight in the room below. Shaw's men have Charles up against the wall. His arms are extended, in each palm he holds a shotglass. There's a bottle balanced on his head. Charles is doing his best to keep perfectly still as the men shoot at him, roaring drunkenly with laughter. One of them hits a shotglass. Glass scatters over Charles's hand and arm. He closes his eyes instinctively.

“Keep them open, boy.” One of the man fires, clipping Charles's ear. Charles flinches, but somehow keeps still.

“Maybe we should put a bottle between his legs.” One of them suggests. “That might make him hold still.”

“You can stop right there.” Erik says coolly from the foot of the stairs. The men just stare at him. “Drop your guns.”

“And if we don't?” one of them sneers. “Then what?”

“This.” Erik fires four shots in quick succession, shooting each of their guns out of their hands. The men stare at him angrily as he walks over to Charles, grabbing the bottle from his head and tossing it to the floor. He catches the other shotglass as Charles's hand shakes. Erik winks at him, and downs the whiskey, before setting the empty glass aside. There's glass in Charles's hair. One side of his face is covered in tiny cuts. The tip of his left ear is bleeding.

“Close your eyes.”Erik says softly. Charles does automatically. Erik brushes his fingers through Charles's hair, shaking the glass out, until it's just soft brown hair beneath his fingers. His hand moves down to touch Charles's ear as he examines it. Charles opens his eyes at the touch, staring at him.

“What the fuck is going on down here?” Shaw's up on the stairway. His shirt is open to his waist, his pants unfastened. Behind him through the open door, Angel's sitting up in bed with a sheet wrapped around her, eyes downcast.

“We were just having a little fun.” The first man says. “Apparently, Smith here doesn't have a sense of humor.”

“Erik?” Shaw looks at him. “You got something to say?”

“I've never considered tormenting dumb animals particularly amusing.” Erik tells him smoothly.

Charles stiffens at the words, drawing a little ways away from him. Erik wishes he could reassure him, but not now. Now he has to show Shaw that he just happened to rescue Charles. Again.

“Seems you've got a soft spot for dumb animals.” Shaw shakes his head. “I've got better things to tend to. Carry on.” He goes back into his room and closes the door.

“Come,” Erik takes Charles's arm, pulling him toward the kitchen.

“I can manage.” Charles pulls free. He can't bear to be touched by this man right now. He storms into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Erik follows him.


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you all right?”

Charles whirls to face him. “What do you care?” He keeps the table between Erik and himself, for safety's sake. He's angry, angry enough to lash out. "This is one dumb animal that can look after itself."

“Charles,” Erik starts, and then he realizes he doesn't know where to go from there. There's nothing he can say to Charles, to any of them. "I'm sorry for what I said in there."

“Save it,” Charles's voice is harsh. He turn and goes out the back door leaving Erik alone in the kitchen. Erik hesitates, and then follows him.

Charles paces back and forth on the back porch. He glares at Erik when he appears in the doorway.

“I don't need you to rescue me every time I'm in trouble.” He spits the words at Erik.

“Oh?” Erik reaches for his cigarette fixings. “Who else is going to do it?” He means it as a joke. Charles fails to take it as such. He moves into Erik's space, his face heated and angry, his hands balled into fists.

“What do you want, Erik?” He demands, “What are you here for?”

Erik doesn't have an answer for that. He doesn't have the words to tell Charles about his past, or about his plan, simple enough as it is. He focuses instead on what he can see in front of him. Charles. His lips, his eyes, his warmth.

Erik leans in, his hand cupping Charles's chin as he kisses those lips he's wanted for so long.

Charles is surprised enough that he doesn't move at first. Erik is standing right in front of him, kissing him heatedly. He can't believe it; he wouldn't believe it, save for the mouth pressing against his, demanding his response. So Charles surrenders to it. Despite all his doubts, despite all his concerns. His mouth opens to Erik's, his tongue meeting Erik's eagerly. Erik's hand is on the back of Charles's neck, drawing him in. It's all heat and want, touch and need. Charles pulls at Erik's shirt as they stumble backwards, back into the kitchen. He needs more, despite all he's been given. He still needs more.

Erik gives it to him, pushing Charles back against the table, kissing him hungrily. Devouring Charles's mouth as he presses him into the table. Charles stares up at the man above him. Erik's hand cups his jaw, licking across his lips before he slips between them, seeking out the heat of Charles's tongue once more. His own tongue licks and curls around Charles's, forcing a ragged moan from the other man as he arches up into Erik's grasp.

Charles is lost. He can barely think with Erik so close against him. The heat from the man's body draws him nearer. He wants to hold on to Erik for dear life and never let go.

Erik's hands are on his hips, lifting him onto the table, leaning him into it. Charles's back is flat against the wood. He's vaguely aware that he's lying on the kitchen table. Anyone could walk in and find them, but it doesn't seem to matter as Erik's mouth kisses him desperately, his hands working on the buttons on Charles's collar, loosening it. Erik leans down to suck at Charles's throat, hard enough to leave a mark on his flesh.

Charles wants to give in, wants to give everything to Erik. It's all he can think of, their bodies pressed together, his skin against Erik's, bare and yielding. His cock swells at the thought. Erik's hand is there, between his legs, cupping him through his jeans. Charles moans quietly as Erik strokes his tentatively.

“Charles?”

Erik backs away from him abruptly, leaving Charles leaning on the table, gasping for air. Charles pulls himself upright, fighting to get his breath back to normal as Moira enters the kitchen.

“Charles, are you all right?” She looks at him worriedly.

“I'm fine.” His voice is a rasp. He doesn't dare look at Erik who moves further down the hallway, into the shadows, away from observant eyes.

“Oh, Charles,” She moves closer to embrace him.

Charles closes his eyes as Moira cradles his head to her breast. The tears in his eyes are from shame, nothing else. He can't believe he allowed Erik to touch him like that, after the man took Raven upstairs. Charles can't bear to think of it, but he knows he has to face it eventually. For a little while he lets his sister hold him, in the safety of her arms.

* * *

After a few minutes Charles can't allow himself to deny it any more. He pulls free from Moira's arms and stares at her accusingly.

“How could you let her do that?” What he means is _'Why didn't you stand up to Shaw?'_

He already knows the answer even if he doesn't want to admit it to himself. The simple fact that Moira and he both know, that Shaw would kill any of them in a heartbeat if they give him the slimmest excuse. It's a slender line to walk, between knowing someone wants you and your siblings dead and saying it aloud. It doesn't make any sense to Charles, but then violence never does. There should always be a peaceful solution. It occurs to him there, in the silence of the kitchen that Erik might sense this about him...that he thinks Charles is a coward for not protecting his family better.

Still, the idea that to Raven keeping Charles and Moira safe was worth trading herself makes him ill. Nothing is worth that. Suddenly, Charles has to talk to Raven, has to know what his twin is thinking...what Erik did to her.

Moira starts to speak, but Charles doesn't stay to listen. He goes up the back stairs, not wanting to face any of Shaw's men who might still be in the saloon. Fortunately the hallway is empty and he reaches Raven's room without running into anyone.

Rapping at her door, Charles waits anxiously.

“Yes?” Raven's voice is muffled through the wooden door.

“It's me.”

“Come in.”

He pushes the door open, closing it hurriedly behind him. Raven's sitting up in bed with her knees drawn up under her chin. It's the way she's sat when she's lost in thought ever since she was a little girl. Charles swallows past the lump in his throat as he goes to kneel beside the bed.

“I'm so sorry, Raven. I can't tell you how...” Words fail him. He hates himself for letting this happen. He hates Shaw for putting them in this position and Erik...his heart twists, because he should hate Erik, but he can't. For this Charles hates himself most of all.

“Charles,” Raven reaches for his hands, pulling him up on the bed beside her. “He didn't touch me.” She doesn't mention the kiss. It was a private moment between her and Erik...nothing that touched what lays between Erik and Charles.

“What?”

“Did you really think that?” Raven stares at him. “Jesus, Charles, you know Erik better than that.”

“Do I? Do we really, Raven? What do we know about him? He rode into town and rented a room. And he's working for Shaw.” It's not enough.

“Supposedly.” Raven points out.

“That's good enough.” Charles murmurs.

“This isn't like you, Charles.” Raven squeezes his hand in concern. “Normally you're the one trusting everyone and I'm the suspicious one.”

“I want to trust him, Raven, but I'm not sure if I should.”

“He fixed the cards to protect me. He's saved you _twice_. What more do you want, Charles?”

He looks at her hand clasping his. “I want to know why he's here.” He needs to know what's behind Erik's eyes. Why, even when they look so cold, they can make Charles fairly _burn_?

* * *

All Erik can think of is getting away as quickly as possible. More than anything he wanted to grab Charles by his collar and haul him upstairs to his bedroom to fuck the younger man senseless. Instead Erik's now holed up in his room alone with aching desperation between his legs and no Charles.

He's barely aware of unfastening his jeans, freeing himself. His gun hand pulls at his cock hastily, trying to ease the ache threatening to overcome him. He thumbs at his leaking slit, exhaling silently as his cock thrusts between his shaking fingers. It only needs a few strokes and he's coming, biting his lip hard in a valiant effort not to cry out. Charles's name is lost on his silent tongue.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite the few hours of sleep he finally got, Erik is awake bright and early the next morning. He heads downstairs to the kitchen in hope of a cup of coffee. Once there he finds Charles clearly had the same idea. He's holding a cup between his hands as he stares moodily out the window. 

“Any more of that?” Erik asks casually. 

Charles nods. He moves to the stove to pour Erik a cup. Erik opens his mouth, but Charles is already adding milk, the way Erik prefers it. He hands it to Erik, letting the man take a sip before speaking.

“Raven told me what you did.” 

The words sound ungracious. Charles doesn't mean them that way, but when he looks at Erik all he can think of is how Erik's hands touched him, how his fingers and mouth felt as they claimed Charles's skin. He shivers at the memory. 

Realization dawns in Erik's eyes. “You thought I bedded her, didn't you?” It stings more than it should. They've got no real reason to trust him. 

“I'm trying to say thank you,” Charles grits out. The next words just spill out of his mouth. “Why the devil do you keep helping us?”

“A good question.” Erik sips his coffee. There are several reasons he could offer, and there are none. He's helping because his instinct tells him to, because, somehow, the three of them have reminded him that there are other people out there who need help. Then there's the fact that it's Shaw threatening them. At the age of eleven Erik vowed he would never let Shaw hurt another living being if he could help it. Especially not that one he cared for. 

The slow realization of the tentative emotion flickering like a candle flame inside him is something Erik prefers not to dwell on. That he cares for Charles is a painful truth he doesn't want to see the light of day. Erik doesn't want to care for anyone. It only hurts worse when they're taken from you.

“What is it?” Charles breaks into his thoughts. The look on Erik's face just then gives Charles the strangest impression that for a second Erik was close to tears. He must be imagining it.

There's a rapping at the front door. Charles hesitates. Erik drains his coffee and jerks his head at him to answer it.

It's one of Shaw's men. He nods to Erik. “Shaw's got a job for us. Saddle up.”

“Be out in two minutes.” Erik turns to Charles. “Thanks for the coffee." He checks his gun and his ammunition and he's ready to go.

Charles doesn't speak as he follows Erik out to the barn to saddle his horse. He waits until Erik's turned away from him, busy tightening the cinch.

“You didn't answer my question.”

Erik shrugs, keeping his voice light. “Maybe it was pure luck. Maybe I simply couldn't resist a pair of pretty blue eyes.” He straightens the stirrup and swings up into the saddle before he looks down at Charles.

“I'll tell you this, Charles...you keep asking why, and maybe I'll stop doing it.” Digging his heels in, he rides away. 

* * *

The job Shaw wants done is simple enough. It's more of a test than anything else. One of Shaw's tenants owes him money. Shaw's tired of waiting and wants them off their farm. 

“Gabe, Tex, Smith." Shaw chooses his men. "Get them off the property. I want them gone by noon. Understood?”

From the way Shaw put it, Erik gets the feeling he's not too bothered exactly how they persuade the family to leave. 

It takes two hours to ride out to the Johnson's farm. The spread is just a little bitty thing, barely enough land to call itself a farm at all. But the clapboard house looks sturdy enough, There's a lean-to housing some goats and they have their own well. A fence protects the small garden they've got going near the side of the house. The Johnsons have done their best to make themselves a home here. 

A woman is hanging the wash in the morning sun as they ride down the hill toward the farm. She stops when she sees them approach, shielding her eyes to see better. It takes her only a moment to assess them as a potential danger. She scoops up the small child playing at her feet, holding him protectively as the three horsemen ride up to the house. 

“Where's your husband?” Gabe asks, looking around. 

“He's chopping wood out back.” 

Tex nudges his horse and goes to investigate. Erik and Gabe stay put. The woman watches them carefully. The child in her arms squirms but she doesn't let it down. 

“What do you want?” She asks worriedly, looking from Erik to Gabe. 

“Your husband and you have fallen a bit behind on your payments, Mrs. Johnson.” Gabe smiles unpleasantly. 

Tex comes back around the house, herding the man walking in front of him. Johnson moves closer to stand by his wife and child, his arm going automatically around his wife's shoulders. The whole job has given Erik a queasy feeling in his belly. He'd give anything not to be here.

“Shaw wants you off.” Gabe spits tobacco juice at their feet. 

“We have two more months,” Johnson objects. “Shaw said.”

Erik reins his horse in close. “Let me tell how it is.” He leans in, fixing the farmer with his eyes. “If you don't take your family and leave your farm by noon, you'll be dead by half-past.” 

Johnson's face is white, but he nods stiffly. 

“Good. Now go pack up your belongings.” Erik sits back in the saddle. The Johnsons obey hurriedly, heading inside. 

“You take all the fun out of this, Smith.” Gabe complains. “I'm going to water my horse.” He and Tex settle in the shade of the lone tree, smoking and talking. Erik moves to stand in the dirt yard. He's doing this the easiest way possible, but his mind keeps flickering back – _Laughter. Rain falling. Blood filling his mouth. A single piercing gunshot that refuses to stop echoing long after its fired._ He blinks and rubs at his forehead.

The family packs quickly, loading their belongings in their wagon. From time to time the wife looks at the two men smoking under the tree, and then at Erik watching silently. Johnson hitches up their horse while his wife ties their two goats to the back of the wagon. 

When they ready themselves to leave, Johnson approaches Erik. “Thank you.” The words are quiet, but heartfelt. The man's eyes, grateful.

“Don't mention it.” 

Johnson shakes his head. “I know how Shaw works. If you hadn't...” He holds out his hand. 

Erik doesn't acknowledge it. “Just leave, will you?” He turns away to mount his horse. 

The Johnsons climb in their loaded wagon and drive away. Erik watches as they head away from their home, away from town, away to god knows where. Their home is gone...but they can find a new home. They're alive. They're together. They're lucky.

Erik turns to the others. “Might as well head back.”

* * *

“Well now.” Shaw looks up at them as they enter the ranch house. “No trouble then?”

“None at all. Didn't even have to fire a single shot. Smith here,” Gabe jerks his thumb at Erik, “Just talked to them and scared them into skedaddling.” He chortles loudly.

“How about that.” Shaw murmurs. He kicks a chair over to Erik. “Sit on down.” 

Erik sits. 

Shaw beckons Janos over to him, tells him something quietly and the man nods. Shaw turns back to Erik as Janos and Az leave the room. The others are still here, some in the kitchen eating a meal. Some sitting around the table playing cards and drinking. Shaw nods at the whiskey bottle standing on the table between him and Erik. 

“Drink?”

“Why not?” Erik pours himself a shot. He knocks it back quickly, letting the burn of the alcohol course down his throat. 

Shaw lights himself a cigar and blows a smoke ring into the air. “Care for a hand of poker?” 

“Cut the deck.” Erik's gun is ready in his holster. The first move Shaw makes, he's a dead man. But Shaw simply deals the cards and they begin their game. 

The afternoon fades into early evening. The poker game continues. Erik's hands are steady and his eyes are calm as he plays cards with the man he's sworn to kill. If this is the day he kills Shaw, it will be enough. His thoughts go to Charles...he would have liked to see Charles again. 

Shaw starts another hand. “I'd like you to stay here tonight.”

Erik shrugs, looking over his cards. “If you want.” 

Az enters the room and comes over to them. He lowers his head to mutter a few words at Shaw's ear. Shaw merely nods and pats his shoulder before returning his attention to the game.

Shaw discards a card and draws another. “Already have a room prepared for you.” He grins. “Emma tried to put fresh flowers in it. You know how women are.” 

Erik smiles. “Two cards.” His hand is so-so, but he's holding his own. 

“By the way,” Shaw says, as though it's just occurred to him. “You did such a nice job on your first day, I'd like to show my appreciation. There's a little reward waiting for you in your bedroom.” He smiles at Erik like he has a straight flush. 

There's a cold, hollow warning ringing at the back of Erik's mind. He has no idea what Shaw has waiting for him, but he knows it can't be good. He forces himself to take a sip of his whiskey. 

“Oh?” 

“No hurry.” Shaw says amiably. “Let's finish this hand.”

They finish that hand and play another three rounds before Erik feels he can finally excuse himself. Shaw sits back in his chair, grinning at him. 

“Up the stairs, last door to the left.” He takes a swig of whiskey. “I think you'll like it.”

“I'm sure I will.” Erik rises. He can feel the man watching him all the way up the stairs till he's out of sight. 

Erik reaches the room that's supposedly his and pauses. Whatever Shaw has for him, he has to be ready. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open warily. 

There, lying on the bed, is Charles. He's positioned on his belly, wrists and ankles bound tightly behind him. A thick gag is clenched between his teeth. There's fear in his eyes when he raises his head to look up at the doorway.


	10. Chapter 10

Charles blinks at the sight of Erik, but it's not in surprise. 

“Oh, Charles,” Erik closes the door, locking it. He goes over to the bed and unties the gag. “What...” He can't go on, in case Shaw didn't tell Charles what he was being taken for. He looks at Charles's expression. No such luck.

“Shaw said...” Charles's voice is a dull rasp. 

Erik goes over to the bureau and pours a glass of water. “Here,” He helps Charles to drink. 

Charles spills a little down his chin in his eagerness to drink. “Shaw said...I was a reward for you.” His eyes are accusing. “Because you're such a _favorite_ already.”

“A favorite, right.” Erik snorts. He gets out his knife and pretends he doesn't see the flicker of fear in Charles's eyes. Fear definitely directed at him. He cuts the ropes tying Charles's wrists, then moves down to free his ankles. Charles sits up, rubbing at his wrists. He looks bruised and exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes. Erik wants to kiss them away, to protect him from the dangers of the world, the men like Shaw. He keeps his hands to himself. 

“Well?” Charles demands. “What're you going to do with me?”

“I'm going to take you home.” 

“Really.” Charles doesn't seem to believe him. 

“What else did Shaw say?” Erik asks suddenly. Something about Charles is off. There's a tension in his body that's never been there before. His shoulders are hunched, and drawn, as though he's trying to make himself less noticeable. 

“Nothing.” Charles looks away, not meeting his gaze. 

“Charles.”

“He said,” Charles takes a deep breath and looks up at Erik. “You've been wanting to fuck me ever since you rode into town. So he was just speeding up the process.” His hands clench. 

“What did they do?” Erik asks very quietly. Charles has gone back to not looking at him. The worry in Erik's gut tightens. “Charles?”

“When they took me...one of them said they had to get me ready.” Charles keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. “They smeared grease on my thighs and...inside me, so that it would be easier for you.” The words are dead and empty.

Erik wants to retch; he feels like he's been punched in the gut. There are no words for how sorry he is. Nothing that will make up for what Charles has gone through. “Come on.”

Charles stays put on the bed. “So you don't want to fuck me.”

Erik can't answer that. He can't lie, but he has to. “Of course not.”

“Liar.” Charles's voice is calmer now. “Why won't you look at me then?”

Erik does look at him. "What do you want me to say, Charles?”

“I want you to tell the truth.” Charles pushes himself up to stand in front of Erik. “I want you to stop lying.” 

Erik's had enough. He closes the distance between them in two strides, pushing Charles flat on his back. “You want to hear the truth? That yes, I want to fuck you? That perhaps I should take what I want and damn the consequences? That in some ways, this gift of Shaw's is very, _very_ tempting?"

His hands are on either side of Charles's head as Erik glares down at him. “I could say that, Charles.” 

He straddles him, keeping Charles prisoner between his thighs. “I could keep you here, tied to my bed for whenever I wanted it.” His hand snakes down to cup Charles roughly, making him cry out. “Shaw wouldn't care. Is that what you want to hear, Charles?”

“You wouldn't do that.” Charles squirms, but he can't escape the hand touching him, or the way Erik's looking at him. Like he's prey, something to be devoured. 

“How do you know?” Erik demands. Charles doesn't know the sort of things he's done, the life he's led. He shouldn't have this half-wavering, half growing trust in _Erik_ of all people. It's absurd.

“Why did you cheat to get Raven?” Charles counters. 

“Charles...” Erik's trapped. Just being here this close to Charles is a mistake. Simply having the man between his legs is giving Erik's cock the wrong idea.

“Erik,” Charles says his name like it's a prayer.

Erik's never heard his name spoken like that. It pulls him in, the distance between what he should do, and what he wants is closing fast. Charles says his name again and it's to this that Erik succumbs. His lips meet Charles's fervently as their hands pull at each other, trying to get closer somehow. Charles is hard beneath him, arching into Erik's hand, until Erik moves it and simply thrusts against him frenziedly. They're wearing too many clothes, but they can't be bothered to take them off. Erik tangles his fingers in Charles's hair as he kisses Charles's open, needy mouth. Charles's hands are on his ass, trying to pull him closer. They rut against each other, desperate in their need for each other's bodies. 

Erik pulls his head back to watch Charles beneath him. He drinks in the sight of Charles's face, vulnerable and trusting beneath him. His eyes shine brightly as he gazes up at Erik. When Charles comes, he bites his lip with a soft, breathless moan. Erik gives one last thrust as his balls tighten and he feels the familiar flood of pleasure coursing through his body. He shudders silently over Charles, and rolls off him to lie on his back on the bed.

Despite the rest of the day, this particular moment is the closest Erik Lensherr has ever come to bliss.


	11. Chapter 11

He should have known it couldn't last.

“Erik.” Charles moves beside him, his hair mussed, his mouth bruised from kissing. His body bruised from Shaw's men. Erik takes in the sight of Charles stretched out alongside him and remembers what they've done to him. What he's done to Charles. What Shaw expected him to do. His stomach churns and he sits up with his back to Charles. 

“I'm taking you back into town.” His voice is clipped and tight. It's taking everything he's got to stand firm right now. There's no right answer here. If he takes Charles back, Shaw'll be suspicious...but he can't keep Charles at the ranch either. Erik grinds his teeth. If he just didn't care about Charles, he could shoot Shaw tonight and leave without giving a second thought to what would happen to the Charles after he was gone. 

“But.” Charles sits up, brow furrowing in confusion. "Won't Shaw..."

Erik ignores him. He knows what he has to do. Talking won't help matters. Erik strips off his jeans, glad to be shed of the sticky mess. He stands half naked with his back to Charles as he cleans himself off. Pulling on his spare pair of trousers he turns round to find Charles just sitting on the bed, looking at him silently. His eyes, hurt and confused, plead with Erik to explain without Charles having to say a single word.

“I'd tell you to get cleaned up, but frankly it's better if I leave you looking a mess.” Erik fastens his jeans, reaching for his boots. The room stinks of sex. He needs to get out of here before he changes his mind and keeps Charles here all night. 

“You mean they'll believe you fucked me.” Charles says bitterly. He can hear their voices again, the laughter as they... He looks away, trying not to think of it. It's done. It's over. He needs a wash; between the other mens' treatment and what just happened with Erik, he feels filthy.

Erik shrugs. The way Charles is just sitting there, hunched into himself; Erik can't stand it. “Get up.”

“Don't make me go out there,” Charles stares down at himself, at the wet stain across his crotch. “Erik, please.” He cringes at the thought of what they'll say. 

Erik ignores his pleas as he takes him by the arm. He pulls Charles upright and out the door. The sooner they leave, the sooner this whole unpleasant business will all be over. He wonders fleetingly if Charles will ever speak to him again after tonight. Erik wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

Shaw's still drinking at the table with Az and Janos. He quirks an eyebrow at Erik's entrance. “Done so soon?” His grin widens as he takes in Charles's rumpled appearance. “Just looks like you've dirtied him just a little. Surely he still has some more use in him.” 

Erik chuckles easily. “I want to leave something for next time.” He takes a step toward the door, pulling Charles along.

“Whoa there,” Shaw crooks a finger playfully at them. “Now just where do you think you're taking him?”

“I'm taking him home.” Erik's fingers tighten slightly on Charles's arm. He hopes it looks like possessiveness and not the idiotic urge to protect Charles that it is in reality.

“Why would you do a damn fool thing like that?” There's curiosity there, but also alertness. Shaw sits up, watching him closely. Erik knows he needs to tread carefully. 

“Because it works to my advantage.” Erik explains, smirking. “I take him back, his sister sees he's mostly unharmed. She thinks I've helped them and is much more inclined to let me stay under her roof whenever I want. That way I have much easier access to both him, _and_ his twin.” He lets his smirk widen. “See what I mean?”

Shaw chuckles delightedly. “You want both of them? Together?”

“My daddy always told me to dream big.” Erik says smoothly. 

“You lying asshole.” Charles tries to pull free, but Erik's grip is too tight to escape. Charles, never one to give up easily, kicks Erik savagely in the shin. 

Erik slaps him hard with his free hand. “That's enough out of you.” 

“Careful,” Shaw laughs. “Wiggles like a fish caught on a hook, don't he?”

Janos snorts with amusement. “You should have seen him earlier. Squirming all over the place while we got him ready for you.” He looks up at Erik, grinning. “He's a lively one, all right.”

“That's how I like them,” Erik says blithely. “Lively.”

He tips his hat to Shaw, who just shakes his head and laughs as Erik maneuvers Charles out of the house, straight out to the barn where his horse is waiting. 

“Let go.” Charles struggles. 

Erik shoves him face fist against the wall. “Hold still.” He ties Charles's hands behind him and steps back. 

Charles tries to kick him again and this time Erik's patience is _gone_. He punches Charles quick in the belly, letting him crumple to the ground. Charles groans, curling into a ball while Erik goes ahead and saddles the horse as quickly as possible. Once he's done, Erik hauls Charles up over the horse, ignoring the muted cry Charles makes when his weight rests where Erik punched him. Erik mounts behind his prize and rides out of the barn.

He doesn't allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief until they're out of sight of Shaw's ranch.

“Let me down _now_.” Charles struggles against the ropes holding him prisoner.

Erik smacks Charles's ass hard. “You can either shut up on your own or I can gag you. Which is it to be?”

“Fuck you.” Charles mutters, but he subsides at last. He's quiet for the entire ride into town. Erik's grateful. He's fairly sure he doesn't want to know what Charles's thoughts hold at the moment. 

Face down over the saddle, Charles glares at the side of the horse. He can't believe Erik is doing this to him after what just passed between them at Shaw's ranch. Hadn't it meant anything, any of it? He tries to make sense of it all. Despite this humiliating treatment, he still wants to trust Erik. What kind of fool does that make him? He sighs, closing his eyes and wishing this was all over and he was safely away from Erik.


	12. Chapter 12

When they reach the saloon at last Erik rides around to the back and dismounts. He pulls Charles down from the saddle. 

“If you touch Raven,” Charles starts as soon as he's upright. 

“Oh ye of little faith, Charles.” Erik cuts his ropes, freeing his hands. He reels backward as Charles punches him furiously in the jaw. Erik hits the ground, rolling with the blow. He makes a grab Charles's leg, pulling him down. They roll in the dirt, battling fiercely for control. Charles knocks Erik sidewise with his elbow as he tries to gain some distance, but Erik comes back at him, kicking his legs. He manages to trap Charles's between his own, shoving him down. 

“Now lie _still_.” Erik tells him wearily. 

Charles lets himself go limp and Erik lets him go, moving back from Charles to crouch on his ankles in the dirt. Charles pushes himself up slowly. They face each other warily, covered in dirt and blood. Erik's lip is bleeding. He licks at it as he straightens up. 

“If you touch Raven, I'll kill you.” Charles snarls. If he has to fight Erik, he will. He still doesn't want to. God, he's such a weakling. Hating himself, Charles gets to his feet. 

Erik snorts, wiping the blood from his mouth. “If you believed that, than I'm hoping it was good enough for Shaw.”

“What?”

“Charles, do you truly think I would harm your sister?”

“No,” Charles admits. Despite everything...because of everything...he just doesn't know what he should believe any more. But he knows what he _wants_ to believe, knows what he feels deep inside him, even if he doesn't want to admit it to himself. 

“Then shut up and go inside.” Erik brushes his hand across his brow. “Your sisters are probably worried half to death."

Charles doesn't move. “All that. What happened back there.” The good and the bad of it, he can't just brush it away and forget. He has to know. 

“Go inside, Charles.” Erik's voice is terse, like he can't bring himself to talk about it. The look in his eyes though, it's the same look he had right before he kissed Charles for the very first time. 

Somehow that makes it easier for Charles to say, “You have to come too. Your mouth.” Blood still trickles from the corner of Erik's lips, lips that even now Charles wants to kiss.

Erik just stares at him and then shakes his head. “All right.” He ties up the horse and follows Charles into the kitchen. 

“Charles?” Moira jumps up from the table. “Oh Charles, thank god.” She wraps her arms around him, despite how filthy he is. 

“I'm fine.” Charles tells her. 

“Raven's been out looking for you. Where were you?” Moira steps back to look him over closely. “Charles, what happened?”

Charles opens his mouth, but he has no idea what to say. He's saved for a moment by the sound of a horse approaching. Raven comes flying into the kitchen. “Charles?”

He barely gets the chance to tell her he's fine, really, before she's hugging him, holding him so tight Charles can barely breathe. “What the devil happened to you? I looked all over.”

“I can see that,” Charles half laughs. “What in god's name are you wearing?”

“Your clothes,” She says simply, grinning at him impishly. “I could hardly ride around in a dress now, could I?”

“Do you really think that's wise,” Charles starts, but Raven claps hand over his mouth.

“Not now, Charles. Just tell us what happened.”

“Yes,” Moira seconds, “You look...” She looks at Erik worriedly. “You both look as though you've been fighting.” 

Erik hesitates. He's not sure what Charles wants to tell them, so he waits. Hoping that Charles will take the hint and start talking fast.

“Some of Shaw's men thought it'd be fun to drag me out in the desert.” Charles says finally. He takes a deep breath before he continues with, “Erik stopped them.”

Now _that_ Erik wasn't expecting. He manages to hide his surprise at Charles's lie, but he's fairly certain Raven caught a glimpse of it. 

“Erik,” Moira turns to him. “I can't thank you enough. All that you've done, I can't...”

“Don't mention it,” he says brusquely. “Please...Moira.”

His use of her first name makes her smile, hopefully distracting her from the thanks he doesn't deserve. 

“We thought you'd been taken or something,” Raven murmurs, searching her twin's face carefully.

“Don't be silly, Raven.” Charles brushes off her concern. 

“Well, now that's done.” Moira says briskly, wiping her eyes. “Go back outside and get washed off. The both of you are filthy. I'm not having you any further inside till you're clean.” She hands them both a dishtowel. “Now, I mean, clean.”

“I should be getting back.” Erik takes a step toward the door.

“You told Shaw you were bunking here tonight.” 

Charles's words stop Erik in his tracks. The kid's right. He's stuck and Charles knows it.

“Well, in that case,” Erik shrugs, “You heard her. After you.” He holds the door for Charles, grinning at Raven who makes a face at him.

They're halfway down the steps when Moira's voice follows them from the kitchen. “Just leave your clothes on the porch.”

Erik glances at Charles, who's facing him, waiting to see what he'll do. 

Charles shrugs. “After you.” He returns Erik's words. 

Erik unfastens his gun-belt, hooking it over his saddle-horn. He hangs his hat over that and turns back. Charles's fingers are moving cautiously over his buttons. As one's undone, and then another, more of his skin is slowly, tantalizingly revealed. Erik gets his own shirt off more quickly. He knows full well he shouldn't be ogling Charles's body after what happened, but he's be damned if he can make himself stop.

He drops his shirt on the steps and reaches for his belt, pulling it free from his pants. When he looks up again, Charles is standing there, naked.


	13. Chapter 13

Erik's breath catches in his throat as he watches Charles cup his hands in the trough and bring them up to splash water on his face. Charles does this a second time before he finally looks back at Erik. He doesn't turn away at first even though Erik is openly staring at him, despite the familiar flush spreading across his cheeks. At last Charles turns his gaze back to the water. 

Erik steps out of his suddenly too tight pants and drops them on top of his discarded shirt. He moves to the other end of the trough, dipping his towel into the water and bringing it up to scrub at his neck and shoulders. Charles is studiously not looking at him now, so Erik returns the favor. Two can play at that game.

Charles is doing his best to wash and not pay attention to Erik as the man stands beside him. However there are certain tasks in life that are impossible for a mere human to accomplish and _not_ paying attention to Erik when he's naked is one of them. Even out of the corner of his eye, Charles marvels at the other man's body. Erik's form is fashioned like a weapon, lean, strong, beautiful. Charles scrubs at his heated face with his towel, but it doesn't stop his thoughts as they wander deliciously over Erik's skin.

They wash in silence for a few moments, there in the dim light from the kitchen window. Sneaking glances at each other's bodies, both unwilling to face each other, to reveal what they desire. At last Charles half turns away as he slides the wet towel awkwardly along the inside of his thigh. He wishes he were alone for this. Then Erik's there right beside him, his hand closing on Charles's wrist. 

“Let me. They did this to you because of me...” Erik crouches in front of Charles, his hand easing the towel between Charles's thighs, still slick and greasy. Slowly, Erik washes away the grease as Charles just stands there letting him. Charles's prick is right there in front of him, tempting Erik. He glances up at Charles, wondering what he would do if Erik just took him in his mouth here and now. His fingers brush hesitantly across soft skin, close to Charles's entrance.

Charles pulls away. “I can do the rest.”

“Right.” Erik straightens up. Charles is doing his best not to look at him. Erik leans over to scoop up some water, knowing perfectly well that he's giving Charles an excellent view of his bare ass. There's a soft, wordless sigh from behind him. Erik turns around to find Charles just standing there, looking at him, lost for words.

“Are you really staying here tonight?” Charles knows what Erik has said, but he can't quite believe the man won't just leave the moment Charles turns his back.

“My gear's here.” Erik waits on tenterhooks. If Charles would just make a move, Erik would know it was all right, know that he could lean in and brush his thumb across those perfect lips like he's aching to. 

“Well,” Charles starts to say, but whatever he was about to say is lost as Raven steps out with two towels. 

“Moira said you'd be needing these.” 

“Raven!” Charles covers himself hastily with the dishtowel. Erik just laughs and holds out his hand. Raven tosses him both towels with a grin before heading back inside. 

Erik hands one to Charles. “Here.”

Charles wraps it around himself immediately. Erik takes his time, drying his shoulders and hair.

He wants to wait, wants Charles to speak more than anything. But even as he stands there, he knows this is all a mistake. He should leave.

* * * 

Charles just stands there, towel draped around him. He swallows heavily. “Erik.” He can't say anything more. The memory of what happened in the bedroom blurs with the events of the last few days. Can he trust Erik? He wants to. He _has_ to.

Erik's stomach twists at the hesitancy evident in Charles's eyes. If he looks any longer, he'll... He drops his towel abruptly and stalks into the barn.

Charles blinks. That wasn't quite what he thought would happen. He knows Moira and Raven are probably wondering what the hell is going on. Well, let them wonder. He takes a deep breath and goes into the barn after Erik. He can't let him leave. Not without trying to explain at least.

Once inside the barn, Charles is relieved to find Erik's not in the process of leaving. Instead Erik's leaning against a beam, resting his forehead against the wood. His eyes are closed, his whole body still. Charles feels like he's interrupting just by walking into the barn. 

“Erik.” It comes out a whisper. 

Erik half turns his head to look at him. There's a weariness to his stance that makes Charles ache for him. No man Erik's age should look that exhausted. Charles takes another step, hesitantly.

Erik turns; Charles's eyes are drawn automatically to his crotch. He's _felt_ Erik of course, how could he not? But seeing him, seeing the way his cock hangs between his legs, even half hard...it's impressive as hell. Charles licks his lips unwittingly. Erik simply walks over to him and pulls his towel from him. Of all the times Charles would have thought he'd blush. Yet for once he doesn't. Erik _wants_ to look at him. The plain simple truth of it makes Charles harden.

“Erik.” He doesn't know what he's asking, only that he needs the man to speak, to act, anything to break the silence. 

But Erik knows what he's doing as he sinks to his knees in front of Charles, his hand reaching up to encompass Charles's shaft, just holding him for a moment. Charles does his best not to come then and there as Erik's fingers slide down to the base of his cock. He's incapable of containing the low needy breath when Erik wraps his tongue around the head and pulls Charles's cock into his mouth. Charles's hands gravitate to Erik's shoulders, holding on for dear life as he manages somehow to stay on his bare feet. Erik's mouth...he's imagined, oh yes, but imagining doesn't do justice to the warmth of Erik's mouth playing him across his tongue. His lips as they move on his cock are the most exquisite thing Charles has ever seen. His hands join in, pressing lightly on Charles's balls. A sharp keening sound tears itself from Charles's throat as he comes apart from the attentions of Erik's mouth and fingers exploring his body and claiming it for their own. 

Erik pulls off, running his tongue down Charles's length right to the slit. Charles opens his mouth to beg, but then Erik's mouth is on his balls, licking at them hungrily, sucking them into his mouth. Charles is gone. The world narrows to pure sensations. Erik's mouth hot on his balls. His fingers rubbing the underside of Charles's shaft, but not any further, not where Charles _needs_ to be touched. His hair rubbing against Charles's naked belly. The smooth muscled shoulders beneath Charles's hands. 

Erik drags his mouth off to return to Charles's cock and as he takes him deeper, rubbing his nose in Charles's pubic hair, breathing him in, Charles feels Erik's cock nudging at his leg. The insistent rub of it, dripping against him, pushes Charles over the edge at last. He cries out, trying not to thrust too hard into Erik's mouth. Erik keeps him there, letting Charles gasp and thrust into him. Ever after Charles's hips have stilled, Erik continues licking at his sensitive shaft. He doesn't stop; Charles has to push at him. 

“Can't...take,” Charles gasps, “ any... more.”

“Yes, you can.” Erik murmurs, pressing his lips to Charles's thigh. Charles trembles as Erik licks along his thigh, back to his cock. Where he drags his tongue underneath, till he's tonguing the slit again. Incredibly after a few minutes during which Charles swears Erik's tongue should be giving out, Charles comes a second time. This time so violently, his hands dig into Erik's shoulders as hard as he can. He's trembling all over, tears in his eyes, as the most exquisite rush of pleasure, so sharp, so brilliant, barrels over him and Charles raises a hand to his mouth to stifle the shout breaking free from within. 

Finally Erik stands, cracking his neck and smiling at Charles. The satisfied smile of a man who's gotten just what he wanted. _Well_ , Charles reconsiders that as he eyes Erik's eager cock. _Almost._

* * *

“Erik,” Charles advances slowly, half expecting Erik to move away from him, but for once the man stays still. Erik stands there silently as Charles touches him. 

Charles takes Erik in hand almost reverently. He doesn't think about what Shaw's men said. He knows Erik, knows Erik is never going to harm him, not intentionally. Instinctively, Charles knows that whatever Erik is doing here, he's doing out of love. Revenge is there too, but love is at the heart of it.

“Erik,” Charles murmurs his name as he strokes Erik gently. He wants so much, but now, just having his hand on Erik's cock is almost enough.

“Charles, you...” Erik can't say any more. There is so much he wants to say to Charles, but where would he even begin? He reaches out to thread his fingers through Charles's hair. “When I saw you there at the ranch...”

Charles's hand upon him stills for a second, and then continues, stroking up and down with the same deliberate rhythm. “Yes?” Charles asks softly. His fingers drag the words out of Erik, along with the pleasure he hasn't allowed himself to feel in so long. 

“I was afraid they'd hurt you.” Erik tells him. 

“Is that all?” Charles looks at him hopefully. More hopefully than he wants to admit. 

“I wanted you.” Erik tells him bluntly. His fingers caress Charles's hair gently as though he wants to pull him in for a kiss, but can't bring himself to do it. 

Charles smiles slowly, his hand still stroking Erik. “I hoped as much.”

“In that moment?” Erik lets the question dangle between them. He's quickening in Charles's hand, any minute he's going to come. Still, he has to hear Charles say what he already knows. 

“No,” Charles admits. “In that moment there, I was afraid.” It pains him to admit it now, here, to Erik, but he can't lie. 

“Of me?” Erik's words are almost lost in a half-stuttered moan as he thrusts against Charles's fingers. 

“Yes.” Charles turns his face away, ashamed of himself, of his fear, his mistrust. 

Erik smothers his gasp as he comes, straining hotly through Charles's fingers as his own tighten in Charles's hair. “Then at least you're not a fool.” He releases Charles abruptly, stepping away.

“Yes, I was.” Charles says flatly. “It was foolish of me to believe that you would ever harm me or my family.”

“Charles, how could you ever know so absolutely?”

“Because you're a better man than Shaw.” Charles tells him simply. “Even if you think you're not, Erik. You are.”

The way Charles is looking at him with his guileless blue eyes, so open, so _sure_. It's astounding. Erik shakes his head. “You are....a rare man, Charles.”

“Because I want to believe there's good in you? In most men?”

“No," Erik shakes his head. "The fact that you think it's worth something.” 

Charles opens his mouth to respond and what comes forth is, “I want you.” 

Erik takes in the sight of him; Charles is standing there before him, young, naked, _perfect_. Erik could have him here and now. Maybe that would be enough...but he can't do it. “Charles.”

“I mean it. I don't say things I don't mean, Erik. If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have said it. I wouldn't have told you for the world, if I didn't.” He's babbling, he needs to stop himself from saying any more.

“I believe you.” Erik smiles in spite of himself. “I wasn't saying no, Charles.”

“Then...”

“I'm saying...wait.” He puts up a hand, stopping Charles's protests before he can voice them. “Just tonight, tomorrow. If you haven't thought better of it tomorrow night, then...yes.”

“You won't change your mind?” Charles can't help asking.

“Charles, how could I deny you anything let alone something I have wanted for so long?”

At that, Charles can't wait. He leans in to kiss Erik just once, an intense, lingering meeting of their mouth, all teeth and tongue that leave them both hungry for more. Somehow Charles manages to pull away. His heart is beating rapidly as he looks up at Erik. 

“All right then, until tomorrow night.” He doesn't know if he can last that long.

“Now,” Erik looks down at himself. “I suppose you and I had better clean up again and go inside. Your sisters must be wondering.”

Charles can only nod. 

Silently they return to the trough and wash quickly. Then, wrapped once again in their towels, they enter the kitchen. Moira has mugs of hot milky coffee, whiskey tempering it, waiting for them on the table. 

They drink them, barely able to look at each other without remembering the new knowledge of each other's bodies, but unable to truly look anywhere else. 

_'How the devil am I supposed to get through tonight?'_ Charles wants to know. 

Erik clears his throat. “I'd better say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Erik.” Moira smiles at him. Charles can't get a word out. 

“Goodnight,” He nods at both of them, and goes upstairs. 

Charles watches him go down the hall. Erik's ass in that towel is something he's going to remember for a long, long time. He can't help the soft exhalation he makes. He remembers then about the stain on his jeans. By now, Moira's seen it. Charles closes his eyes, sighing a little. He doesn't really want to think about his sister finding that. 

Moira looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “Is there something you'd like to tell me, Charles?”

Charles considers, staring at his mug. “They didn't take me out to the desert. They took me to Shaw's.” He shouldn't tell her this; she'll just worry more. But he knows how it is. He'd rather know what was going on than be kept in the dark, just like Moira. 

“Charles,” Moira sinks into the chair opposite him. The fear in her voice makes his heart ache.

“He got me away from them...” That's all he'll say. It's enough. 

“Oh, Charles.” She takes his hand, just holding it. 

“It's all right. It's just...Erik.” He swallows, trying to think of how to explain. 

“You have feelings for him?” Moira asks softly. “Don't you?”

“Yes.” Charles keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his cup. The coffee is almost gone. The dribble that's there is barely a sip. He lets it sit there, just holding the cup between his hands until all the warmth is gone. 

“What about when he leaves?” 

Charles shakes his head. “I don't know.”

They sit across from each other in silence.


	14. Chapter 14

The night passes more easily than Charles expects. No sooner has his head touched the pillow, then he's fallen into a deep sleep. 

When he wakes in the morning, there's a lightness to his thoughts. Something, he can't figure, and then he remembers. Erik. Remembering last night makes Charles smile as lies there in bed. It fades as he thinks of Erik's involvement with Shaw. Something was causing Erik to work for Shaw. But whatever it was, he'd tell Charles in his own time. Whatever it was, Erik _had_ to have a good reason. Charles is certain of this. 

Quickly he gets out of bed, washes and dresses and heads downstairs. Moira's wiping down the bar. “Charles, it's your turn to cook breakfast.”

“I know.” 

He goes into the kitchen to get the stove heating, building from the coals of last night's fire. He gets the oatmeal started before making a fresh pot of coffee. There's laughter from the direction of the barn. Charles looks out the window to see Erik helping Raven water the horses. It looks so natural having him there. Charles feels a pang. _Why can't Erik stay?_ The oatmeal bubbles, drawing his attention back to the stove. He has it on the back burner, keeping it hot while he fries the bacon, when Erik and Raven finally come inside. 

“No eggs?” Raven inquires, tapping the empty bowl. 

“Did you fetch eggs?” Charles flips the bacon. “No? No eggs then.” 

“I'll get them.” Erik reaches for the bowl. He grins at Charles as he goes. 

“Sooooooo.” Raven waits until the door swings shut. “Want to tell me what really happened last night?”

Charles gets a flicker of memories. _Bare, white skin. Erik standing naked in front of him. Erik._ “What do you mean?”

“I've seen the way you look at him, Charles.” She reaches for the coffeepot. “Don't deny it, you idiot.”

“All right. I'm not denying anything.” Charles feels hounded. Both of his sisters in less than twelve hours have somehow completely guessed his feeling. And Erik...Charles feels heat creeping over the tips of his ears. Erik knows Charles wants him, but he doesn't know how much Charles cares for him. 

“Something happened last night. I can see it in your eyes.” Raven leans on the table. “What?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Charles focuses on the bacon. 

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to ask Erik?”

Charles turns, waving his cooking fork at her. “You do and I'll,” he stops as Erik comes through the door.

“Ask me what?” Erik's standing in the open doorway with a bowlful of eggs.

“Whether you want one egg or two?” Raven smiles at him. As Erik turns to close the door, she makes a gesture at Charles that makes him hiss, _“Raven.”_

“Here, Charles.” Erik hands him the bowl. 

“Thank you.” Charles takes them. 

Erik moves to pour himself some coffee. He sips it in quiet contentment, watching as Charles finishes cooking breakfast. 

After breakfast, Charles sets about washing the dishes. Erik takes the buckets out to the pumps without even asking if Charles wants the help. He supposes Erik already knows he does.

Charles ties his apron around his waist and goes outside. “I can take those.”

“It's no trouble.” Erik tells him, picking them both up. 

Charles reaches for one all the same, and their fingers meet. Erik grins and releases the bucket handle. Charles grabs it just in time, but water sloshes across his pants. 

“Damn!” Charles glares at him. 

“Sorry.” Erik glances down at him. 

They're both smiling, just standing there in the morning sunlight. It's ridiculous, Charles knows this full well, but he doesn't stop smiling.

“Do we really have to wait for tonight?” Charles whispers. 

“A deal is a deal, Charles.” Erik brushes past him. “Come on.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “Give me strength.” He mutters and follows Erik up the steps into the kitchen.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of past rape and violence.
> 
> Disclaimer: the chess quote belongs to David Bronstein.

It's a normal day at the saloon. Raven's cleaning the windows as the morning sunlight streams through the glass. Moira's organizing the stock room. Charles goes over the supplies at the bar, taking inventory of the bottles, checking the glasses over. The girls are drinking coffee and playing a little poker before doing the wash. When Erik comes in, he joins the girls' poker game for a while. Charles can't help watching. Erik's seemingly at ease, enjoying himself. Once though, Erik looks up at him and the heat of that look makes Charles harden right there behind the bar. He glances at the clock. It's not even noon yet. _Fuck._

Moira sends him to the general store after lunch. It's almost a relief to get a break from the atmosphere, even if Charles doesn't really like being around the townsfolk that much. They don't show their opinion openly, but he knows what they think of him, of his sisters, his whole family. Charles tries not to care as he buys flour and sugar and coffee from the obsequious little grocer. He doesn't want to care. It shouldn't matter. 

Erik takes his horse to the blacksmith before he can be corralled into lunch with all of them. As pleasant as it would, he knows he needs to pull back. He's doing his best as it is not to follow Charles's every movement, but it's goddamn hard. 

The blacksmith checks all four shoes, tightens them. Erik leans against the wall thinking over what he needs to do. He needs to buy supplies. Once he kills Shaw, he'll need to to leave town as soon as possible. If he gets out. Part of him doesn't think he will. 

He doesn't expect to see Charles in the store even though he knew Moira was sending him on an errand. Charles raises an eyebrow as Erik orders jerky, hardtack, salt and beans without looking at him. The look in Charles's eyes isn't something Erik wants to acknowledge right then. Charles leaves before he does. The bell over the door chimes his departure.

Charles carries the supplies back to the saloon, brooding every step of the way. He knows what this means. Erik is leaving. Charles puts the supplies away. Erik is leaving. He hears Raven ask if he wants some coffee and nods without thinking. Erik is leaving. 

He sets about tidying the kitchen when he's done putting the groceries away. _'Everything in its proper place,'_ as his mother used to say. That's something he can manage, something he understands. He doesn't allow himself to think about what it means if Erik is leaving. What it will be like once he's gone. 

Charles finds the chess set tucked away in the corner cupboard where they keep the flour. He hasn't looked at it in years, not since his father died. But now...there's something about it. He takes it out and sets it to one side on the table. 

* * *

He makes beef stew for dinner, eying the chess set as he puts the fixings together. 

Erik joins them for dinner. The meal is a quiet affair. Moira and Raven exchange looks as Charles and Erik eat silently, not looking at each other.

“I put the chess set over there.” Moira tells Charles as she clears the table. 

“Right...” Charles sets about making a fresh pot of coffee. 

Erik glances at it. “Do you play?”

“Do you?” Charles stares at him in surprise.

Erik grins. “We may not all be as civilized as you, Charles, but yes, I can play chess.”

“Sorry.” Charles pours coffee. “Do you...want to...” He hesitates.

“I'd love to.” Erik reaches for the board, bring it back over to the table.

* * *

As the evening wears on, the saloon settles into its familiar routine. Moira's tending bar out front. The soft strains of piano music slip through the door. Quiet murmurs from the card players while Raven sings about the moon in summertime. 

The lamp is turned down low, casting soft warm light across the kitchen.

Erik takes black, Charles white. They assemble the pieces, slipping into a strangely, comfortable silence. The unease hovering over the meal fades as they become engrossed in the match between the pieces. 

“I'd forgotten how much I loved this game.” Charles muses as he studies the board. 

“Who taught you to play?” Erik examines the design of the pieces. It's a beautiful set, polished till it shines. Worth quite a bit, he assumes. 

“My father's foreman.” Charles selects his knight and moves it. “Whenever he had a spare moment, we'd play a game. What about you?”

“My father.” Erik admits. “When I was little, he told me, _'When everything on the board is clear, it can be so difficult to conceal your thoughts from your opponent.'_ " He trails off...that's certainly true in his dealings with Shaw. Erik feels his every thought is starkly visible upon his face, and any second Shaw will realize it. He pushes a pawn forward without saying more.

Charles watches him. The way Erik speaks of his father...he can't bring himself to ask, but Charles knows the man is dead. 

“Charles,” Erik leans back in his chair, “About the supplies I was buying...”

“Yes?” Charles keeps his eyes on the chessboard between them. 

“You knew I would be leaving sometime.” Erik's fingers linger on his queen, then trail over to move his knight, taking a pawn of Charles's. 

Charles nodded, pushing his bishop two spaces. “Yes, I simply haven't wanted to acknowledge it.”

“Fair enough.” Erik murmurs. 

“What are you doing here?” Charles asks at last. He meant to wait until Erik simply told him, but he gets the feeling Erik is waiting for him to ask. 

“Playing chess.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Erik looks at his hands, then up at Charles. “I'm here to kill Sebastian Shaw.” 

“What?” Charles asks, even though he knew it had to be something like that. 

“You heard me.” Erik's not repeating himself. He doesn't want to jinx it. If he says it aloud, if he admits it...it could go wrong. Somehow it's all right to tell Charles though, just the once.

“Why?”

At that Erik stands. “I need a drink.” He knows where Charles keeps the whiskey in the kitchen, and gets out the bottle. Pouring them each a generous amount, he hands one to Charles and lifts the other to his lips. It's not an easy story to tell, but then he's never tried to tell it to anyone before. Not all of it. Erik wonders, even as he begins to speak, if he's making a mistake, if he's taking the last bit of Charles's innocence. In the end, Erik tells him anyway. 

“It was hell.” Erik looks at his hands. “They stayed for three days and it was hell.”

Charles doesn't ask who 'they' are. He has a sick feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach.

“I was eleven years old,” Erik says slowly, looking at the whiskey. “When Shaw and his men came to our ranch. They'd pulled a bank job and were looking for somewhere to hole up for a while. Our ranch was tucked away in the hills, nobody would think to look there. And nobody did. They shot my father on that first day.” He takes a gulp of whiskey. “Shaw made me dig his grave behind the barn.”

Charles's hands tighten, thinking of Erik, young and frightened...forced to dig his own father's grave. 

“They shot him, but they kept my mother alive.” Erik swallows. His throat is dry despite the whiskey, but the words keep coming. “Shaw raped her on the floor in front of me. He made me watch. He said “This is what happens when you're weak.” 

“Oh. Erik.” Charles wants to reach him somehow...tell him that it wasn't his fault. 

“He kept her alive for those three days so that he could rape her again whenever he chose. When he was done, he'd let the others...” Erik swallows again, taking another swig of whiskey. “On the third day, he gave me a gun and said if I could hit the target he'd set up, he'd let her live. I tried. But my father had never let me learn, hadn't let me touch his gun. Said I was too young. I couldn't focus, the shot was too wide. I missed the target by twenty feet. Shaw shot her there in the grass and let her die.”

He remembers it like it was yesterday. Struggling to reach her as she died. Shaw's men holding him away from her. “I'll kill you,” Erik promised, spitting, shouting the words at Shaw. Shaw had simply laughed. 

“You ever learn how to shoot, sonny, and maybe I'll believe that. Look me up if you do. In the meantime...” They'd tied him to a rope and hauled him out into the desert. Shaw had cut the rope and left him there with an empty gun. 

“In case you're strong enough to make into town.” Shaw patted him on the head. “You get some bullets and learn how to shoot. Good luck.” He'd mounted up and ridden away, his men following behind him. 

It took Erik three days to walk to the nearest town. 

“I vowed I'd never be weak again.” Erik says at last. Abruptly, he knows he shouldn't have told Charles all this. It's too much, too much of himself, the whole sad, sordid story...

“Erik, you were a _child_. You're not weak. There was nothing you could have done. _Nothing_."

Erik nods, without raising his eyes from his whiskey glass. He knows this, but it doesn't change anything. 

“Will killing Shaw...bring you peace?” Charles asks softly. “Can it?” He doesn't think it will, but at the same time...he can't tell Erik what to do. And if he were in Erik's shoes, what would he do? Charles has no answer for the questions in his head. 

“Peace was never an option.” Erik drains the last sip of whiskey and sets the empty glass down. His eyes are filled with sorrow as he raises them to meet Charles's gaze.

“It should be.” Charles says helplessly. “You have a right to be at peace. You should be...happy, Erik.”

“Happy?” Erik stares at him, confused, and then he smiles. He can't help it. “Charles...some of the happiest days I've ever known have been here...with you.”

Charles's answering smile overtakes his despair. He can't help it. He's glad that Erik's been happy here, with him...despite everything else, and he wouldn't give that up for the world. And yet, Erik is leaving.

“So...” he clears his throat. “You're leaving after you kill Shaw.”

“Yes.”

Charles nods, keeping his eyes down.

“It's not tonight, Charles.” Erik says quietly. 

At that Charles raises his eyes. “Good.” That's all he says, but it's enough. Erik leans forward, across the chess set to kiss him. A few pieces scatter, but what does that matter when Charles is moaning into Erik's mouth and Erik wants to pull him over the table and show Charles exactly what he does to Erik.

“Shall we continue the game?” Erik asks when they finally break apart.

Charles wants to say yes, wants to restrain himself, but he _can't_. 

“I can't wait any longer.” He blurts. “This...Erik. I don't care what you've done in your past. I don't care if you're going to leave town and never come back,” he swallows. “Well, I mean I do care if you leave, but all the same...I want this. I want you.” 

Charles rests his hands flat on the table. “When I close my eyes at night and lay there in the dark, it's you I want beside me. Through all of this madness with Shaw...thinking of you has kept me upright when I want to curl into a ball with fear.” He looks straight into Erik's eyes, willing him to understand. “Every time I touch my neck, I remember that night you first walked in here. And it's not out of gratitude. That would be absurd. I've been grateful to people before, Erik. It doesn't make me want to fuck them. But you, everything draws me closer. There's nowhere I'd rather be.” 

When he stops talking, the silence swells in the room. Erik just looks at him inscrutably, searching Charles's face for something only he knows. 

“So,” Erik says slowly, “If I were to kiss you again...”

“I would ask why you're taking so long.”


	16. Chapter 16

Erik stands, walking around the table until he's there right next to Charles. He pulls Charles gently up out of his chair, leaning in until their bodies are only inches away. The kiss is just a soft brush of his lips across Charles's. Then his hand reaches out to cradle the back of Charles's head, pulling him in closer. His mouth on Charles's, their lips parting between them as their tongues claim each other. Erik kisses like his life depends on it, as though it's the last kiss he'll ever have. When he pulls back, still cupping Charles's head, he's studying Charles, still searching. 

“Upstairs?”

Charles managed a soft, helpless half laugh, half giggle. “I do think Moira would prefer that as opposed to...” He gets a sudden flash of Erik pressing him down upon the table, how it felt. 

“Fucking you on the kitchen floor?” Erik inquires. 

The lust in his voice makes Charles's body _want_. “You can do that anywhere.” 

Erik closes his eyes for a moment. “'Upstairs, before I take advantage of that.”

He lets Charles lead the way up the back stairs, mostly so he can grope his ass. Charles stifles a moan as Erik's hands palm his cheek through his trousers, his fingers rubbing down his cleft. 

_“Erik.”_

“You said anywhere.” Erik murmurs, his breath on the back of Charles's neck. 

“We're almost there, please.” Charles makes it to his room, getting the door open at last. He wants it to be there, wants it to be in his room so that he'll be able to lie there at night and remember Erik filling this space, filling him. The thought makes him quiver with anticipation.

Erik closes the door behind him and leans against it, still just looking at him. Then he locks it. 

Charles stands in the middle of his room just enjoying the fact that Erik is in his room. Then he moves forward, pressing Erik back against the door, his tongue curling over Erik's collarbone, sucking at him tenderly. “Erik.”

“Charles.” Erik's holding him as though he doesn't want to break him, as though he's precious. 

Charles doesn’t want to be precious. He wants Erik to touch him, really touch him. His hands pull slightly, on the collar of Erik's shirt. “What are you waiting for?”

Erik smiles, reaching down to grip Charles's ass so tight, Charles resists squealing aloud. The back of his legs hit the bed, as Erik propels him backward. Then Charles is lying on the bed, looking up at Erik as he crouches over him, his knees cradling Charles's thighs, holding him still. 

“You ever do this before?” Erik touches Charles's jaw, stroking his face tenderly.

“No,” Charles admits. “You?”

“Once or twice.” 

Charles licks his lips. He's thought about it, imagined it while touching himself...but now, here with Erik, the thought of it being Erik that's fucking him makes him go hot all over. 

“I,” He squirms free, pulling Erik down on the bed and crawling between his legs. 

Erik sits back and watches as Charles undoes his trousers, drawing his cock out slowly. 

“Charles,” Erik's voice gives way as Charles takes him in his mouth. Slowly, cautiously, that eager, young tongue moves over his cock. Charles may be inexperienced, but the enthusiasm, the want make up for it and he's a very quick learner. 

At last Erik has to pull him off. “Charles, Charles, if you don't stop, I won't last.”

Charles sits back, looking slightly disappointed and all of his twenty-one years. Erik cradles his jaw. “Time enough for that.” His hands move down to unbutton Charles's shirt. 

Charles lets him as he tries to get at Erik's. Their fingers push the material aside, both shirts drop to the floor beside the bed. 

“Trousers.” Erik pulls his off easily, and then he's kneeling naked in Charles's bed, divesting Charles of his own. Then they're kissing, trying to touch everywhere at once. Thighs pressing against thighs, cocks brushing against each other. Charles is moaning into Erik's mouth as Erik grips his ass, rubbing against him harder. 

Erik rolls them over so that he's lying on top of Charles. “You are the most deviously attractive young man.”

“You like it.” Charles looks up at him. 

“Yes, I do.” Erik brushes his lips over Charles's nose, tickling him. He sits back again, looking down at Charles. There's oil in his saddlebag, but it's all the way back in his room.

“It's all right,” Charles tells him, inexplicably knowing his thoughts . “I have some.” He crawls over to the end of the bed, reaching in his bedside table drawer. “Here.” 

“Do you use this on yourself?” Erik reaches for the oil.

“Sometimes.”

It's a picture Erik will keep with him now – the thought of Charles sliding slick fingers over his own cock, reaching down to touch his hole. Erik blinks, and realizes that for once, the memories important or not, can wait. The reality, now is too sweet to miss.

“Lay back.” 

Charles does, half propping himself up on his elbows to watch. Erik pours the oil over his fingers as he nudges Charles's legs slightly further apart. The first brush of his finger over Charles's hole makes Charles shiver deliciously. There's already a drip of pre-come gathering at the head of his cock. 

“You really want this.” Erik marvels. 

“I've wanted this for a long time.” Charles admits. “I want you.”

Erik pushes inside slowly, letting Charles get used to the feel of it for a moment, before he pushes further. 

“Nrgh,” Charles says indistinctly.

“Yes?”

“More.” Charles looks up at him. “Please.”

“Your manners are impeccable.” Erik withdraws a finger, then presses in two, steadily, gently, past the muscle until Charles's writhing helplessly around his fingers. 

“God, Erik.” 

Erik brushes the across the spot he knows, watching Charles gasp in surprise. “Oh, my, _fuck_ , Erik.”

“There.” Erik murmurs, satisfied. “There.” He scissors his fingers, stretching Charles, curling his knuckles, making the younger man moan beneath his touch. Charles is not the only one who's wanted this for a long time. 

Charles is panting by the time Erik withdraws his fingers. “Now, please, Erik.”

Erik nods, then hesitates. “It'll be easier for you, on your stomach.”

Charles nods and rolls over. The simple trust in the action petrifies Erik. He should run, fast as he can, faster than a speeding bullet, far away from this boy who doesn't deserve the kind of man he is. 

Instead, he lays a hand on the flat of Charles's back, stroking down to the curve of his ass. Parting Charles's cheeks, Erik positions himself, saying a silent prayer that Charles won't regret this tomorrow, and thrusts in. Charles mutters incoherently into the pillows, clutching at the sheets, clenching around Erik.

“Charles.”

Charles looks at him over his shoulders, his eyes bright. “More?'

Erik laughs, almost giddy. “As you command.” He thrusts further, reaching for Charles's hips. The younger man arches back to meet him eagerly. 

They move in the silent heat of the room, skin to skin. There's sweat on Erik's back, and his belly, from pressing close to Charles. Charles, who fits his cock so perfectly. Charles who's making the most delicious sounds as they fuck. Erik wants to touch him everywhere at once. He settles for a hand on Charles's hip, and the other on his chest, drawing Charles up on his cock so Erik can mouth at the back of his neck.

“Erik, Erik.” Charles murmurs, as they move more slowly, the heat pooling in Erik's groin. He sets his teeth to the nape of Charles's neck. His hand tightens around Charles's chest as he comes, holding the young man upright on his knees, thrusting into him. Charles comes as Erik fills him, his knees are trembling. He doesn't know how much more he can take. His own cock is dripping between his legs. 

_“Erik.”_

But Erik's hand is there before him, stroking him in time with the last of his thrusts. Charles moans helplessly, his head falling back against Erik's chest as he comes, hastily spilling over Erik's fingers. Erik's still inside him, still holding him to his chest, panting as he strokes Charles, milking him until there's nothing left. 

Charles closes his eyes. This moment here, it's... 

“Perfection.” Erik murmurs in his ear, as though Charles had spoken straight into his mind. 

Charles turns his head to reach Erik's lips. The angle is awkward, his neck won't thank him later, but he kisses Erik and he doesn't care.


	17. Chapter 17

Erik eases out of Charles carefully. They lie there on the sheets warmed by their skin. Erik on his stomach, resting his chin on his arms. Charles is laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His body tingles all over. He's alive, gloriously so. He looks at Erik speculatively.

“What?” Erik answers the unspoken question.

“How long till we can do it again?”

Erik buries his laughter in his folded arms. “Charles, I'm almost a decade older than you. Give me a few moments at least.”

“You're not that old.” Charles murmurs. He's not sulking, really.

“Old for a gunfighter.” Erik responds. “It's a wonder I made it to thirty.” Only it isn't really. Yes, he's been reckless at times, but he's also taken care at others.

“You had something to live for.” Charles says quietly, picking at a crooked thread in the sheets.

Erik stares at him. “How do you do that? How do you reach into my mind and pluck my thoughts as though they're simply there pinned on a wall, waiting for you?” He's never talked this openly with anyone. It frightens Erik more than he cares to admit, even to himself.

Charles shrugs. “I don't know. You're just...” He closes his eyes. “...familiar somehow.”

Erik lays a hand on his belly. Charles's stomach is smooth, barely a hair at all, save for the thin, fine trail from his navel to his groin. “You are the only one I care to have know me, Charles.”

Erik presses his lips between Charles's nipples, then lower, kissing down to his navel, then lower. It's evident Charles is already ready to go again. Charles's hands are in his hair, pulling him up to his mouth. They kiss, lying in Charles's bed, arms wrapped around each other tight.

The second time is even easier – with Charles riding Erik's cock.

Erik's flat on his back, hands on Charles's hips. Charles has his head arched back as he moves. Erik drinks in the sight of the glorious young body working itself on his cock. Charles moans as Erik's hands reach around to cup his cheeks tightly as he rocks back and forth.

“God, Erik!” The thrust of this angle is amazing. Charles can barely breathe, for the flood of heat coursing through him, filling his body.

“Breathe, Charles,” Erik commands. “Breathe.”

“It feels too good,” Charles pants. “Your cock...” He shudders. He wants to shout aloud, but there's a knock the door and he freezes, right there, on Erik's cock.

“Charles? Are you in there?” Raven is at the door. “Moira said she thought she heard Erik was back?”

“He's in,” Charles chokes. He can't say, he's in me, but Erik's looking up at him, and Charles is starting to laugh. He can't help it.

“Charles?”

“He's a little bit occupied at the moment, Raven,” Erik says very very calmly.

There's a giggle from the other side. “All right.”

“Go away!” Charles calls hoarsely.

Erik reaches up a long arm and claps a hand over his mouth. “That's just rude, Charles.” He admonishes.

Charles smothers his laughter in Erik's hand as he starts moving again. The rhythm's slower this time, he's riding Erik's cock almost lazily. He comes at last, shooting across Erik's chest and chin. Charles rolls off him with a sated sigh. He lies on his belly, contented and pliant as Erik enters him again, fucking him in slow, measured strokes until he comes hot inside Charles. Charles clenches tightly around his cock, not wanting to let him go ever. They could stay like this forever, as one.

Erik's holding onto him, murmuring, “It's not tonight, Charles, not tonight,” until Charles finally lets him go.

They don't sleep until the early hours of the dawn.


	18. Chapter 18

Erik wakes first. For a moment he doesn't know where he is, and his hand reaches for his gun. Only his gun isn't on his bedside table, and his hand encounters warm skin instead. Charles is curled up next to him like a cat. Erik threads his fingers through the young man's hair very carefully, enjoying the softness under his hand. He kisses Charles's hair gently before crawling out of bed.

It's early yet. He's tired, but he can't sleep any more. Dressing quietly, he slips out of the room without waking the sleeping figure.

Erik heads downstairs to the kitchen where he finds the coffee is already hot. He should have known Moira would already be awake. For a moment he hesitates at the door.

“Morning.” Erik says at last.

“Good morning.” Moira smiles at him. “Breakfast?”

“Thank you.” He doesn't sit, just yet. He's fairly sure Moira knows exactly they were doing upstairs all night. She didn't come to the door and demand that he leave her younger brother alone, so maybe it's all right.

“Charles is very precious to me.” Moira says as she pours the coffee. “I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt him."

Erik accepts the cup. “But you're worried about when I leave.”

“Yes.” Moira meets his gaze frankly. “I am.”

“Charles is aware of my plans. He seems...to think it was worth it.”

“I'm not saying it's not.” Moira hesitates. “Just don't leave without saying goodbye. Or anything like that. Charles, he's...the type you need to say goodbye to, Erik.”

“I know.” The thing is, he doesn't ever want to say goodbye to Charles.

* * *

He's drinking his coffee in silence when Charles finally comes downstairs. Erik's heart contracts helplessly at the happiness evident on Charles's face, although the younger man is clearly making an effort not to smile openly.

“Good...morning.” Charles hesitates, then lets the smile spread over his face as he leans over to kiss Erik.

Erik kisses him back even though he'd told himself he wouldn't do this, wouldn't create a bubble of false hope for Charles to surround himself with. But when he looks into Charles's eyes, he sees no expectations, simply contentment in the moment, so he goes with it.

Charles can't stop looking at him as they eat breakfast, which makes Erik smile. Moira makes no comment as they eat, fortunately.

“Charles, we're almost out of firewood.” Moira finally breaks the silence, almost reluctantly.

“All right.” He gets up slowly, not wanting to leave.

Erik rises silently to follow him out back.

He takes the axe from Charles before he can protest. “Let me.”

Charles surrenders the axe gracefully. There's so much he wants to say, and yet, he can't think of the right words to start. He contents himself with bringing the logs over for Erik to split while he thinks of what to say.

_Last night was..._

_You mean more to me than anything. Other than Raven and Moira, obviously._

_Your cock is..._

_I want..._

_I love..._

Charles stops himself abruptly there. Not sure if it's self-preservation that keeps him from even thinking the thought or...and then he hears the hoof-beats in the distance, and he knows the end has come.

* * *

Erik knows it's over when he spots the riders on the horizon. He brings the ax down, settling it in the stump before he turns to face Charles. 

Charles is standing against the fence, watching him. They don't speak. There's nothing left to be said, but Erik takes his hand and draws Charles into the shadow of the woodshed so that he can press him up against the wall for a final kiss away from prying eyes. When he steps back, Charles's mouth is flushed and desperate, his eyes sad. Erik would give anything to take that look away. But he's already done enough so he steps back. 

“You should go inside.” He wants to protect Charles as much as possible from what is to come.

“I'm not a child, Erik.” Charles brushes past him. 

The three riders slow their horses as they approach. Charles stands on the first step, facing them. He's not running away to hide inside. 

“Boss wants you.” Janos drawls, spitting a wad of tobacco into the dirt.

“I'll saddle my horse.” Erik nods at the barn.

“Better get your gear.” Janos tells him amiably enough. “He wants you at the ranch for the next couple days.” 

“All right. Why don't you go have a drink, and I'll meet you around front?” Erik stands still until they acknowledge that he's not going anywhere until they move first.

Janos shrugs at the others and nods. “Why not?” They wheel their horses and ride around to the front of the saloon. 

Erik doesn't waste any time. He has his horse saddled and ready before he realizes Charles has gone inside. Tying his horse to the post, he heads inside and upstairs. He packs all his gear, because chances are...this is it. Erik looks around the room and tries not to allow the complete and utter weariness to creep over him. 

When he turns, Charles is standing in the doorway. “You have everything?”

“Just about.” Erik looks around again, but he knows he's already packed everything he owns. He's unwilling to move, wants to stay in this space. It's unsafe and he knows it. Still, he stays. 

Charles just stands there. However this is happening, he wants to rage against it, to keep Erik there, safe, with him...but he knows he has to let him go. 

“There's something I want to tell you. Before you go.” Charles is pale, but steady. “I...love you. It doesn't mean anything, I know, and I know you _have_ to go...but you _are_ loved, Erik. And I wanted you to know that before you left.” 

If Charles had tried to keep him with pleas, Erik would have left without a word. It's this, this simple understanding that undoes him. He turns and clasps Charles's face in his hands. “If this were were anything else, I would stay.” His eyes search Charles' fervently. “You know that, Charles?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Erik kisses him fiercely, there in the doorway of his bedroom, not caring if anyone's watching or not.

But this is it. Erik knows it, and he's fairly sure that Charles knows it too.

* * * 

Charles knows Erik has delayed the inevitable for this moment. He can taste it on Erik's lips as the man kisses him goodbye, and it is goodbye. They both want to pretend that Erik will return.

But in that moment, in that kiss, the press of Erik's lips on his, Charles realizes that Erik doesn't believe it.


	19. Chapter 19

The ride to Shaw's ranch passes in silence. Erik has no desire to share his thoughts with the man's hands. He has a job to do. That's what he's thinking about. And not the bluest eyes he's ever seen, or the reddest lips he's ever kissed. 

“Come in, come in.” Shaw ushers him inside. “Here's the thing, Erik. I have a little bank job on, few towns over. I need someone here at the ranch to look after Emma while I'm gone.” Shaw grins. “I think we've established that you can keep your hands to yourself. How is young Xavier by the way?”

“Just fine.” Erik drawls. 

“Anything come of your plan?”

“Still working on it.” 

“Right,” Shaw laughs. “Well, make yourself at home. Patrol the area. I don't really expect any trouble, but Emma is very precious to me.”

“I'll take good care of her.” Erik promises. He follows the man out to the porch where the rest of the men are already mounted and ready. 

“Behave yourself.” Shaw brushes his forefinger softly across Emma's cheek. 

“Just go.” Emma laughs, kissing Shaw quickly before he mounts up. 

Shaw tips his hat to her and rides away. Erik stands there, watching until they're out of sight. It's going to be a long couple of days.

* * *

Erik passes the first afternoon playing solitaire and drinking cool whiskey on the front veranda. The minutes tick by, hand by hand. He drinks the whiskey slow, taking his time.

The night seems even longer. Emma leaves her bedroom light on when she retires after supper. Erik can't tell if it's a precaution or an invitation. She'd friendly enough to him during the day. He wouldn't put it past Shaw to set up a trap to test him. 

Instead Erik lies awake and thinks of Charles. 

_My dear Charles, you have no idea how lonely it is here without you. I never thought I could miss someone as much I miss you..._

Erik rubs his hands over his eyes tiredly. He'll never write those words. It's sappy. He's not a lovesick child for pete's sake. He gets up and returns to the solitaire, thinking of revenge. 

* * *

“He'll be okay, Charles.” Moira tells him for the fourth time since Erik rode away that morning.

“I know that.” Charles says peevishly. It isn't his place to worry over Erik, but he can't help it, can't shake the feeling that something is happening. They're on the precipice of a gaping chasm and Erik is slipping through his fingers...while Charles is tending bar and and taking care of the horses. 

But there's no trouble in the saloon while Shaw and his men are gone. Charles tries to be happy and not let paranoia take him prisoner. 

* * *

Another day passes, much like the first. Erik is restless, patrolling the ranch. Shaw has built a small paradise here. Erik contemplates burning it, but what good would that do? It wouldn't hurt Shaw, not really. 

It's the middle of the third day, hot and still, sweat causing Erik's collar to stick to the back of his neck. Emma's taking a nap. Half on whim, half instinct, Erik slips into Shaw's bedroom. He doesn't know for sure if the man even kept it, but this might be the only chance he has to find out.

Shaw doesn't have many qualms about hiding his things. His cufflinks, and gold tie-pins are scattered in a small wooden chest, along with a couple of watches and assorted bits and bobs. No ring. Erik sifts through them again, frustrated. He was so certain Shaw had kept it.

“You better have a damn good reason for going through his things.” Emma's cool voice breaks the furtive silence. 

Erik looks over his shoulder to see her standing in the bedroom doorway. “I do.”

Emma folds her arms across her chest, waiting.

Erik has to admire her for her composure. “I'm looking for something of mine.” He closes the chest and turns to face her. 

“Something you think Shaw took?” She asks, puzzled.

“Something I know he took.” Erik clarifies. 

“What is it?”

“A sapphire ring. Just a small one. There's an engraving on it...it was my mother's.” He stops, knowing he's said too much. 

“Oh.” Emma says softly. “Wait, just wait....” She leads him down the hall to another room, her room. Erik pauses in the doorway, watching her. Emma goes to her bureau, and takes out a jewelry box. She opens it, searching. When she turns around, she has her hand closed around something.

“He gave it to me several years ago. I only wore it a few times...I'm sorry, I didn't know.” She holds it out. 

Wordlessly, Erik takes it. Memories rush over him. His mother removing the ring when she did the washing. How she protested that it was too expensive, that his father shouldn't have bought it. Erik squeezes his eyes shut against the memories. 

“I'm sorry,” Emma says again.

Erik nods. He puts it in his pocket and goes out. 

The last day is torture. He's made up his mind. Soon as the rest of the hands have gone to the bunkhouse, he'll go into Shaw's room and kill him. Erik's dreamt of this death for so long. Too long. It tastes like gunmetal in his mouth. It needs to be over, _finished_. Strangling would be quiet. He could bludgeon the man to death with the pistol. His hands close over it comfortably. 

However it happens, Shaw dies tonight. Erik swears it to himself. To the ghost of his mother and the dull empty eyes of his father in the rain. Even though he can still hear Charles in his mind. 

_Will killing Shaw bring you peace?_

* * * 

The men return in the early evening, laden with bags of money. Erik congratulates them on their good fortune and luck, laughs at their stories of how they lost the posse, and he watches Shaw. It's a curious thing to observe a man when you know you're going kill him. Erik watches Shaw and he knows that this is the night, this is the last night Shaw will ever see. It has been too long in coming. 

His mother's ring burns like fire in his pocket. 

“Erik.” Shaw waves him over. “Emma told you did a fine job of looking after her.” 

“It was my pleasure.” Erik smiles. 

“Good.” Shaw nods in satisfaction. “Have a drink.”

Erik sits, and drinks with his enemy, telling himself it is the last time he will ever do so. 

* * *

It takes forever for the men to go to sleep. Erik paces in his room silently, avoiding the creaking floorboard. The lights go out in the bunkhouse at last, and he reaches for his knife. Between the knife and the pistol, one weapon or another, Shaw will be dead by morning. 

He slips around the side porch silently, heading for the back door which is left on a latch, easy to get in. As he rounds the corner, he stops dead. There, on the porch, smoking, is Shaw, waiting for him. Shaw looks up at Erik, studying the knife at his belt. 

“Mind telling me just exactly what your intentions were?”

Automatically, Erik reaches for his gun, but the two men who have snuck up behind him seize his arms, knocking his gun from his hand even as he fires. The shot grazes Shaw's neck and he hisses, clapping a hand to his neck. Erik struggles, but he can't break free. He's trapped and he knows it and Shaw knows it. Erik thrashes desperately, knowing he's failed. Again.

Emma moves in the darkness of the porch, stepping forward to stand behind Shaw. “I helped you find the ring,” She looks at Erik quietly. “That doesn't mean I'll help you kill him.”

The two men holding Erik bring him forward. There's no point in struggling any more. He just stands there as Shaw picks up his gun, touching his neck where it's bleeding. He walks over to Erik and calmly pistol whips him across the face.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik's head snaps back. He would have fallen if the men hadn't pulled him upright. 

“I thought I recognized the gun.” Shaw says conversationally, eying the weapon in his hands. 

“You told me to find you when I learned how to shoot.” Erik's lips are bleeding. 

Shaw's mouth curves into a smile. “So I did.” He moves in close, studying Erik. “It's a pleasure to see you again, Erik.” He nods to his men. “Tie him up.” 

They tie him, leaving him lying there on the back porch as Shaw decides what to do with his prisoner. Erik lies there, bound hand and foot, wishing...no he wouldn't change anything. He should have simply killed Shaw the moment he saw him, but Charles _had_ to be there in that saloon of all places. That moment when Erik had decided to save Charles had changed everything, and even now...Erik wouldn't have changed it back, even if it meant his life. His time with Charles was too precious. 

“Now what am I going to do with you?” Shaw murmurs, settling back in his chair. “I could drag your ass back into town and hang you, maybe. Right in front of that saloon you're so fond of protecting. Or maybe it'd be worse if they never knew what happened to you. Let them wonder, think maybe you left them alone and unprotected while your body rots in some gulch.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Ah, well. We've got time to decide. I haven't really had any good entertainment for a while. This town isn't exactly the most lively. But you...” He grins at that. “Maybe you'll be just as much fun as your mama. In a different way, of course.” Shaw laughs. 

Erik keeps his mouth shut. He knows there's no point in responding. 

Shaw reaches out a boot to rest on Erik's hip. “All the fight goes out of you pretty easy, eh? Must take after your daddy more than that sweet mother of yours.”

“Or maybe,” Shaw leans forward, the boot digging harder into Erik's skin. “You just need the right influence to bring out the best in you.” He removes his foot and stands. “Something tells me the two of us are gonna need to get caught up.”

* * *

Shaw's ranch is a nice set-up. The veranda runs all the way around the back of the house, creating a pleasant, shaded area. It would do very nicely for an evening party. Beyond the veranda there's a stretch of dirt where Shaw gentles his horses and beyond that barn and the corrals. They string Erik up between two posts halfway between the porch and the barn. The ropes pull taut, keeping him upright. Blood's trickling down his face where Shaw struck him with the pistol. Erik licks at his dry lips and waits. 

It's mid-morning when Shaw graces him with his presence. 

Emma pours Shaw a drink and they go out on the patio. Az and Janos are already there, keeping watch. 

“It took me a while,” Shaw begins. “But eventually I figured out who you were. You're the scrawny little kid from that ranch up in the pines. You couldn't shoot worth a hill of beans.” Shaw actually sounds nostalgic. “You must have practiced a while.”

“Some.” Erik mutters tersely.

“Some.” Shaw guffaws. “You practiced a hell of a lot, didn't you? You're good, you know. I know good shooting when I see it, and you're good.”

“Little Erik,” Shaw shakes his head. “I gave him a perfectly good chance to help his mother, and he failed. Yet here he is years later, still trying,” He leans forward in his chair. “Still failing. I thought you were smarter than that, Erik. Guess I was wrong.” 

He steps back and nods to the two men who approach Erik. The blows are hard, but concise. They're bruising him in preparation for the worse pain. Somehow this is poor consolation. Erik sags on the ropes when they're done. His wrists ache, but it's a numb pain at the back of his mind, compared to his torso. 

“Az,” Shaw drawls. “Don't you have that new whip you were wanting to try out. I'm sure Erik will give us a fair and honest evaluation.” 

The whip hurts worse, biting into already tender skin. It hardly matters that he's wearing a shirt any more. The whip cuts through it almost gracefully. The leather is well-oiled and smooth, snapping into his skin with the speed of a jungle cat. Erik clamps his mouth shut, refusing to scream. 

_Think of anything else, anything. Think of the ocean, calm, blue, endless._ That's no good, Erik finds himself thinking of Charles. Charles who tried so hard, Charles's smile, Charles's body touching his...

“Hey, hey,” Shaw's standing in front of him, slapping him across the face. “Don't go anywhere.” He holds Erik's jaw, examining him almost gently. “You could have been so great, Erik.” He mused. “Your persistence, your tenacity, your skill with a gun. I could have used you at my side a hundred times.” His fingers dance along Erik's jaw, smearing the blood on his skin. “I don't suppose you'd consider joining me.” 

“Now?” Erik lifts his head to stare at him incredulously. He can't believe what he's hearing. That this man would ever trust him enough to do such a thing. He's insane. 

“Why not?”

“You'd trust me to stand by your side now, after I just tried to kill you?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Erik.” Shaw says almost fondly. “Even you.”

To his surprise, Erik laughs. The sound escapes his torn lips. He laughs at Shaw. “Shaw, I'd rather shoot myself in the head then work with you.”

Shaw's eyes narrow, but he's still smiling. “You just might get that chance.” He moves away. “Cut him down.”

They tie Erik to a stake in the dirt and leave him there for the night. He aches all over. The night air bites through his torn clothing. At last he curls into a ball and falls into a fitful sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Shaw horribleness.

In the morning, Erik's woken by a kick to the stomach. Janos places a bowl by his head. 

“Aren't you the lucky one. You get first choice of the pig slops.” 

Erik reaches for the bowl and flings it at the man's face. Bread crumbs, potato peelings, meat scraps, drip down Janos's face.

“Why you cocksucking asshole!” Janos drags Erik up by his hair and punches him hard in the throat. Erik crumples, wheezing, gasping for air. Janos kicks him again before leaving him alone.

It occurs to Erik as he lies there, struggling for breath, that he might already be in hell and nobody told him. 

Shaw ignores him during the day. They leave him out in the sun until Emma finally unfastens the chain and brings it closer to the patio that lies in shade. She refastens it and goes inside, only to come back with a bowl of water. Erik drinks it gratefully. He's too tired to reason out why she's being kind now. It doesn't really matter. Eventually he has to relieve himself. He pisses as close to Shaw's chair as he can. Feeble victories as they go.

Shaw isn't pleased. “Guess we're going to have to train you better.” He nods to the two ranch hands, who jerk Erik upright, holding him. 

“Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?” Erik asks wearily. 

Shaw just smiles. “Oh, Erik, you should know me better than that.”

He's right. Erik does know better. But he can't help hoping that each blow will be the last, even though knows perfectly well it won't be.

* * *

It's the third day. By now Erik has begun entertaining the possibility that Shaw might be planning to simply keep him like this, like a dog. He pulls at the chain, but it doesn't budge. He struggles to his feet, but what good does that do? He can only walk as far as the length of chain. If Shaw would just give him a gun and let Erik face him... That's all he wants. Is it really too much to ask for? 

The water bowl is dry. Erik's tongue is dry in his throat. His stomach rumbles. He tries not to think of Charles's cooking, which doesn't do any good. It's impossible not to think of Charles. All the best memories Erik has involve Charles. 

He closes his eyes and swallows slowly. Soon Shaw will tire of this game and kill him. It's inevitable. 

* * * 

Shaw smokes a cigar in the early evening light as he watches Erik. “So tell me, Erik...what did you really hope to achieve by coming here?”

Erik ignores him. 

Janos pulls Erik's head up by the hair. “Answer the question.”

Erik winces dully. “You already know the answer.” 

Shaw shrugs, then nods at Az who brings the heel of his boot down hard on Erik's right hand. Erik screams then. His hand feels mangled, destroyed. He draws it back, cradling it to his chest, not caring that he's lying there in front of his enemy. 

Shaw watches him for a moment, then leans in. “In a day or two, I'm going into town, and pick up your friends. Maybe you'll still be alive by then. Maybe not. If you are,” Shaw nudges him with his boot. “I'll let you watch while I fuck the girls. Moira seems so feisty. I'll bet she's really pliant in bed though, bet she'll just shut up and take it. That redhead though, she'll be a handful. Maybe I should put a bridle on her and tame her with my cock.” 

Janos laughs at that, the harsh rattle of his laughter grating on Erik's ears. 

“And then there's the boy.” Shaw grins down at Erik. “He's not to my taste, but if you're still around....you know what I'll do? I'll heat up a nice hot poker and stick it up his ass for you. Ten to one he'll scream his little head off for you to save him.”

_Calm_ , Erik thinks, _I must remain calm._ If the rage he's feeling now escapes...Shaw will just kill him.

_Isn't that what you want?_ The broken voice whispers. _For it to all be over? Finished?_ Not like this, Erik thinks. So he says nothing as he kneels in the dirt at Shaw's feet still cradling his hand. 

Shaw's grin disappears. “I expected more from you, Erik.” He sighs, and nods to the men. “Tie him in the barn.”


	22. Chapter 22

Erik's lying still in the darkness, bound hand and foot. The night air seeps through the shreds of his clothing. He's cold, but barely feels it. The things Shaw said about the three siblings. The man could be kidding, or he could mean every word. Erik can't take the chance. 

He pushes himself up, straining with the effort. His legs tremble, and he collapses on his side, wheezing with the effort. It's no good. 

“Erik.” A voice whispers to him. 

Erik turns his head sharply. There in the darkness of the barn stands Charles. 

“Charles,” Erik croaks. “You can't be here.” If Shaw catches him, he'll have exactly what he wants. “You're just a dream, Charles.” He must be.

“No, my friend.” The figure comes forward and slips an arm around Erik, holding him up. “I'm not a dream.”

The shoulder under his arms is strong, propping Erik up against him as Charles works quickly to untie him. Then he helps Erik to his feet. The blood rushing to Erik's ankles stab at him as he walks, but he forces himself to go on, holding on to Charles. They make it out into the night air and he shivers as Charles leads him behind the barn. 

“Please tell me you brought a horse this time.” Erik mutters wearily. 

“No, I didn't.”

Erik sighs. “Charles.” 

“But Raven did.” Charles smiles.

Raven's waiting with the horses. Her shoulders slump in relief as she sees them approach. They pull Erik up onto the horse slowly. He sways, but then Charles is in the saddle behind him, steadying him. 

“Come on,” They ride silently away from the ranch. 

Erik doesn't remember most of the ride. The darkness seems to last forever, but Charles's arms are sturdy and warm, holding him. Then he's warm in the soft lamplight, and there are voices talking above him. Something damp touches his face, soothing him, and then he's asleep. 

* * *

When Erik wakes the next time everything is blurry. He hurts, but not as much. He pushes himself up. The door opens and Raven comes in.

“Oh, no you don't.” She pushes him back down in the bed. 

“You can't keep me here,” Erik protests. “It's too dangerous.”

“Just lie still. Here.” She brings a mug to his lips, “Take a sip.”

“Tell Moira I need to speak with her.”

“She's busy in the bar.” Raven says briskly. “Now drink.” 

“Then tell Charles. It's important. Raven, please.”

“All right. But only if you drink all of your broth.” She goes. 

Erik sips at the broth. It soothes the dryness of his throat. There's still the ache in his head, the pain in his torso, his hand.... He's broken, useless and still a danger to them. 

“Raven said you wanted to see me.” Charles is standing in the doorway.

Erik pushes himself up once more. “You can't keep me here, Charles. It's too dangerous.”

“It's safer than where you were.” Charles points out, stepping inside the room and closing the door. 

“What do you think Shaw will do to you when he finds me here? To Raven? To Moira? “ Erik demands. “Don't you realize this is the first place he'll look?” Charles _can't_ be this stupid, and yet apparently he _is_. 

Charles comes over to the bed. “What were we supposed to do? Leave you there and let him kill you? Torture you to death?”

“Yes.” Erik says flatly. “That's exactly what you were supposed to do.”

“I couldn't.” Charles says simply.

“Charles, don't be an idiot.” Erik leans back against the headboard. Everything aches. He presses a hand to his chest before he can stop himself. 

Charles looks at the healing wounds. “I can't help that either.”

“If anything happens to you.” Erik breaks off. “I won't let it.”

“You're hardly in a position to do anything.” Charles points out, not unkindly. 

“Please.” Erik mutters hoarsely. “I can't bear it if anything happens to you.” 

Charles's eyes soften and he lays a hand over Erik's good hand. “Do you doubt that I feel the same? Erik, if he had killed you...” He halts himself, and shakes his head. “You're not going anywhere.”

“Charles,” Erik can't let him do this. 

He leans in before Erik can protest any more. “Shhh.” His lips press tenderly to Erik's, a whisper of a kiss. “It's going to be all right, Erik.” 

* * *

Erik is a restless patient. He knows very well it's too dangerous for him to be here, knows that Shaw knows perfectly well this is where he'll hide. Even if Charles wants to continue denying the truth, it's only a matter of time before the man comes and burns down the entire saloon around them. Erik dreams of what Shaw said he'd do to them, waking in fevered sweats with the bedclothes coiled around him, his chest tight with worry and fear. He takes a deep breath, staring desperately in the darkness. It's a mistake. He's putting them all in danger. He has to go. 

The first night he's left alone, Erik pulls on his clothes and slips out, only to find Angel sitting outside his room with a shotgun resting on her folded arms. 

“Now just where do you think you're going?”

“I can't stay.” Erik protests weakly. “Charles...”

“Fuck Charles,” Angel says succinctly. “Do you know what Moira will do if we let you out?” She prods him back to bed, ignoring his objections. 

Next he decides to try the window, but it's boarded up. Erik pounds the boards angrily, or he would if he had any real strength in his hand. The blow leaves him coughing and weak. He staggers back and falls against the bed. 

“We're going to have to tie you down if you keep this up.” Charles remarks from the doorway.

“Charles,” Erik pushes himself up. “You have to let me go.” 

“When you can walk properly, we'll talk about that.” Charles moves in to help him sit up.

“Now.” Erik's fingers dig into Charles's shirt desperately. “He'll come for you, for your family. Charles, don't let them die because of me.”

“Nobody's doing to die, Erik.” Charles is steady and calm, a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, anchoring Erik. 

Yet, he shakes his head. “You're a fool, Charles.”

“Maybe.” Charles leans in to press his lips to Erik's temple, as he climbs into bed beside him. Erik allows Charles to hold him, even as his mind races ahead, trying to figure out what he can do next.

“Shh,” Charles murmurs. “Calm your mind, Erik. We're safe for now.”

Erik closes his eyes and wishes he could believe him. 

* * *

Erik's hand mends slowly. Janos didn't smash it as hard as he could have, and for that Erik is grateful. He flexes it slowly, lying there, staring at the ceiling. He will shoot again. 

It just takes time.


	23. Chapter 23

It's early morning, but the sound of hooves rattles the glass in the saloon windowpanes. Charles looks up, weariness creasing the lines of his young face. He nods to Angel up on the balcony. She's on Erik duty. She knows without Charles even having to repeat it. 

_Don't let him out._

Calmly, Charles lifts the rifle off the bar and steps out onto the porch. Shaw has his men riding up and down the main street, and around the alleys on either side of the saloon. Dust whips around in the air, but there's no sound other than continuous ominous hoof-beats. Charles just stands there, until at last Shaw moseys his horse over in front of the saloon. His eyes pass over Charles dismissively. 

“Go get Lensherr.”

“You can talk to me.” Charles stands his ground.

“I want to talk to a man.”

“Lensherr's not available at the moment.” Charles tells him politely. “What do you want to see him about, Shaw?"

Shaw chuckles. “All right. I want you and your sisters to behave. To remember your place in my town.”

Charles's hand tightens on the rifle. “And if we don't?”

“Then you'll die.” Shaw says flatly. “Not quickly. Not painlessly. But bloody.” The look in his eyes is sincere in promising horror. “Now tell me, Charles...do you really want that for your sisters? For Erik?”

Charles faces him steadily. “Now, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to leave, Shaw. Specifically, I want you to leave us alone from now on and I want you to do it now.”

“Now why would I do that?” 

“Because it's the last offer you're going to get, and you're only going to get it once.” Charles says softly. 

“Always thought you'd get over this foolishness, Charles. Apparently I was wrong.” Shaw nods and a whip snaps through the air, startling Charles. But instead of wrapping around him, the whip pulls the gun away, yanking it from his grip.

Charles swallows. “If you take me...will you leave them alone?”

Shaw cocks his head at him curiously. “You'd do that? Sacrifice yourself? For them?”

“Yes. If you give me your word.”

Shaw considers it. “All right.”

Charles steps forward, swinging up into the saddle of the waiting horse. Even as he does it, he has a feeling it's a mistake. 

“Of course, you should know by now, Charles...my word isn't worth a hill of beans.”

Shaw's laughter is the last thing Charles hears before darkness overtakes him.

* * *

When Erik wakes in the morning, he knows it’s time. Something is wrong; the feeling settles on him like lead in his chest. Erik pulls himself upright. For once, there is no nausea, no wave of pain shooting through him. He dresses slowly before heading down to the stairs. From the kitchen he can hear the sound of Moira crying.

“They just took him.” Her sobs are broken, her eyes red when she looks up to see Erik in the doorway. Raven’s standing beside her, her hands on Moira’s shoulders, steadying her. 

Erik nods. His hands are steady, though the bruises haven’t faded. This is the beginning of the end. It's only a matter of time now.

He spends the day practicing. 

* * *

They get the message from Shaw that evening. Janos delivers it, riding up to the front of the saloon casual as can be.

“Lensherr!”

Erik nods at Raven and Moira to stay inside and steps out to face him. “What’s the message?”

“Shaw wants you out in the street, day after tomorrow. Dawn.” Janos spits in the dust. “Or your boy dies.”

“What's wrong with tomorrow?” 

“Day after, Shaw said.” Janos grins.

Erik knows the game Shaw’s playing. He nods, accepting it. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

“Why’s he waiting?” Moira asks worriedly as soon as he’s back inside. 

“He's just trying to make us edgy.” Erik says calmly as he can. Even though he wants to ride into Shaw's ranch and find Charles right now this very instant. If he lets himself think about it, what they're doing to Charles...he will break.

So he doesn't. He focuses on the guns, testing his hand. Raven watches him silently, as he practices. His aim is good, but he's slow. His hand is sore. And if Shaw brings all his men, he'll have no chance.

* * *

Charles is tied in the barn, hands above his head, yanked up high. He’s been there for hours. It's a test to see if anyone will come for him. Charles wills them to stay away. Even if Raven tried something so foolish, surely Erik would stop her. He doesn’t allow himself to think of Erik coming for him. 

“Think he's coming for you?” Shaw leans against the stall, watching him. “His little whore? Is that mouth of yours really worth getting killed for? Worth risking everything for? Naw. I doubt it. Erik can find better and he knows it. He ain't coming for you. Course, I could be wrong.” He grins and pats Charles on the back. “Get some sleep.”

Charles closes his eyes as the barn door closes. 

Shaw’s not wrong.

Nobody comes for him.

Charles is still hanging there in the morning, arms aching and muscles sore. 

* * *

The next day passes with the speed of a snail. Erik paces the length of the saloon like a panther. The waiting is fraying his nerves, even though he knows perfectly well that's what Shaw wants. 

If Charles dies because of him...if Shaw kills him...Erik closes his eyes and issues a prayer to the wide expanse of desert surrounding him. _Keep Charles safe, whatever the price. Keep him safe._

That night is the longest night of Erik's life. When the morning comes, it's a relief.

It comes with the stillness of a graveyard. 

Erik flexes his hand as he checks his gun. This is it. He's going to rescue Charles, and he's going to kill Shaw. These are the only two things that matter. If he allows himself to hope for more, it will all be undone. Erik doesn't believe he deserves more. There are things in his past, things he’s done. He's killed men, threatened women for information, stolen when he was starving. He's not proud of his deeds, or of his past, but somehow, he is proud of Charles and his sisters. Proud of them standing up to Shaw even if it's foolish. Proud they're trying to hold on, proud that he's known them. That is what is in his mind as he dresses and ties on his gun-belt.

His last thought should be of his mother, but he thinks she would understand if he gives it to Charles.

He goes down the stairs slowly. There's no hurry to facing death. It will come soon enough.


	24. Chapter 24

Moira and Raven are waiting downstairs in the bar. Raven's dressed once again in Charles's clothes with her hair pulled back. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright and speculative. She’s plotting something. Erik looks at her with suspicion.

“What?”

“I'm coming with you.” Moira interrupts his question. “Raven stays here.”

He expects Raven to argue, but for once she accepts her older sister's ruling. In retrospect, this is when he should have seen it. Instead, he holds the door for Moira and they step out into the grey dawn.

They walk down the street to the grocery store where Shaw arranged the meeting. It feels like a hundred miles. Erik walks at a measured pace, overly conscious of the woman at his side. The only hope he has in killing Shaw is that Moira and her family will be safe.

He has an idea then. “Wait.”

Moira pauses, looking up at him.

Erik hesitates, then draws out the doeskin pouch from his pocket. “This...isn't all that much, but I want you to give it to Charles.”

“What do you mean?”

“If he still wants to go to school back east, this is a start.” It's not everything. Oh he wishes, it were everything. All the pouch contains is the few dollars he has and his mother’s ring. It’s not hardly anything at all, but it’s all Erik has in the world. Save for his guns, and he guesses Charles wouldn’t want those. 

“He told you about that?” Moira asks softly.

“No, Raven did.” He drops the pouch into her hand and her fingers close over it.

“Erik.”

“Come on. We don't want to be late.”

They walk on, but Moira takes his arm for a moment, squeezing it gently.

* * *

Shaw's waiting on his horse, sitting easy in the saddle. There's a rope tied to the pommel; the other end is around Charles's neck as he stands beside the man's stirrup. Moira's grip on Erik's arm tightens when she sees him, and then she moves her hand away.

Erik's gaze rakes over Charles quickly. Bruised, exhausted, but still standing. Still _Charles_. His heart swells a little, and he forces the emotion down. There's no time. Not now. 

“Here's the thing, Lensherr.” Shaw grins. “Yeah, I remember the name. I remember a lot of things about that time. The way the wind whimpered through the pines at night. The way your mama's skin was so soft. It smelled like lilacs. Especially between her breasts.”

Erik stays silent.

“This is how it's going to go. You turn yourself over to me, and I let your little whore here go.” He tugs lightly on the rope, jerking Charles's head up. Charles’s face is tightly drawn, like he’s struggling to keep a hold of himself, but his eyes meet Erik’s steadily. 

“No.” Erik says clearly.

“Beg pardon?” Shaw leans forward in the saddle, as though he didn’t quite hear what Erik said.

“Let him go, Shaw.”

“Now, Erik, why on earth would I want to do that?"

“You like playing games. Here's one. If I win, he goes free. If you do, keep him.”

“Why, Erik...” Shaw grins. “You really think you've practiced enough to face me? Especially when you've gone and injured your hand.” He sounds reproachful, as though this is all Erik's fault.

“Are you sure you want him back? Seems to me he’s more trouble than he’s worth. You know he was fool enough to come with me of his own accord, if I gave my word to leave you alive?” His grin shows exactly what he thinks of that. "He actually believed that." Shaw guffaws loudly. 

“That’s because he, unlike some, is an honorable man.” Erik’s eyes return to Charles. “Foolish as hell, but honorable all the same.” 

Shaw yawns. 

“How about it, Shaw?” Erik's voice is calm, like the sea after a storm in the night, like the following morning peace. Like Charles's eyes, when he lays beside Erik.

“How about...not?” Shaw snaps his fingers and the rest of his men advance from the shadow of the building. There are twenty-five of them altogether.

“Coward.” Erik looks up at Shaw.

Shaw's smile disappears. “Just for that, I'll string him up after all.” He jerks on the rope and Charles gasps, struggling to breathe. It's a horrible reminder of the night Erik saw Charles. He starts forward, but every single one of Shaw's men have a gun trained on him and Moira. If he moves, they'll kill her. He's trapped again and Shaw has won.

* * *

Erik looks at Charles, regretting so much. He wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him until the end.

“Let them go.” A steady voice calls out from above. Shaw jerks in the saddle, searching for the voice that dares to defy him.

“What the fuck?”

Raven's standing on the balcony of the general store across the street with a rifle in her hands. “I said, let them go.” 

“Or what?” Shaw leans forward in the saddle, smirking at her. This isn't a threat to him.

“Or this.” Raven fires calmly, hitting Az in the hand. He yelps, dropping his gun.

The other gunmen turn to face her, waiting for orders, but Raven is not alone. The women of the Red Rose Saloon step out and own the town. Jubilee and Jean stand on the roofs flanking Raven's. Marie and Angel are on the roof behind Shaw. He surveys them, his mouth thinning to a severe line. He might make it out, but chances are at least one of them will hit him. Even Shaw knows when not to press his luck.

Tipping his hat to Raven, Shaw looks at his men. “Drop 'em and stand back.”

“You heard the man.” Raven cocks her shotgun.

One by one, the men drop their guns and step away from them. Moira takes a pistol from her shawl and nods at them. “Over there.” She herds them across the street while Shaw seethes. When the men are locked in the general store, Moira turns to face Erik.

“All yours.”

Erik smiles then. It’s a dangerous smile, and Charles knows in that instant that Shaw’s fate is upon him. He closes his eyes for a moment, accepting that this is what has to happen. 

“Fine.” Shaw spits, dismounting. He pulls the rope free from the saddle, dragging Charles after him. Yanking on the rope, he forces Charles to his knees. “There, go on.”

Charles starts to get up, but Shaw kicks him savagely in the gut. “Crawl.”

“Stand up, Charles.” Erik says softly.

And Charles does, not once looking back at Shaw as he gets silently to his feet, walking toward them. In an instant, Moira is there, untying his hands and pulling the rope free from his neck. 

Charles is safe, that's all that matters. Erik's gun hand is aching to reach for it. _Not yet_ , he wills himself to wait. _Not just yet._

“There.” Erik says softly. “Now.”

“Now.” Shaw echos. “Do you really have the balls, Erik? You couldn't save your mother. What makes you think you're man enough to face me now?”

“It doesn't take much of a man to face you.” Erik turns to meet him straight on.

“Go on then.”

They wait. There is no sound in the silent, sleeping town. If the townsfolk are watching from behind their curtains, they stay quiet.

They wait. The minutes tick by. The silence swells around them, filling the street. 

Until Shaw finally can't take the silence any longer and his hand goes to his gun, firing quickly. The bullet is a little high, it hits Erik between his chest and right shoulder. For a moment his vision wavers, as his body reacts, and then his hand raises his gun slowly and surely to aim straight at Shaw.

"Well?" Shaw sneers. He raises his arms, essentially making himself a target. "Go on then, if you can."

"You should not have killed my mother." Erik says softly. 

His own bullet is clean and true, hitting the center of Shaw's forehead. There's surprise in Shaw's eyes as he falls slowly to the dirt, limbs flailing wide. Erik's hands wavers then, and he drops his gun as pain courses through his shoulder.

“Erik! Erik!” Charles is there, wrapping a hand around the wound, trying to staunch the blood. His eyes are worried as he tries to keep the blood from escaping. 

"It's all right, Charles." Erik's hand closes around his wrist. "It's all right." He can't think of a pleasanter place to die than in Charles's arms. 

“Here,” Moira wraps her shawl around his arm, tying it tightly. “Let's get you home.”

“Sounds good.” Erik murmurs vaguely. It all feels unreal and hazy, save for the pain shooting through him. The only thing he knows he’s not imagining is Charles’s touch. That's as familiar and as comforting as a gun in his hands. 

Charles slips under his good shoulder, steadying him. “Come on.”

Jubilee runs to fetch the doctor, while the others help Erik home. They leave Shaw's body there in the street.


	25. Chapter 25

Erik wakes slowly. The light is soft, not too bright. His eyes adjust, focus. He’s back in the bedroom he stayed at above the saloon. Erik shifts slightly, and winces as there’s a twinge of pain in his chest. 

“Careful.” Charles is there, adjusting the pillows behind him, helping him to sit up. Erik catches his arm when he starts to step back. Charles looks down at it, waiting. 

“You were a fool to go with Shaw.” Erik says hoarsely. 

“I believe you mentioned that already.” 

“Charles, when will you learn?”

“I had to try.” Charles says quietly. 

Erik’s hand tightens on his arm. “If I had lost you…”

He doesn’t imagine the look in Charles’s eyes, he knows he doesn’t. Charles smiles and turns to kneel besides the bed, clasping Erik’s hand in his own. “You haven’t lost me, Erik. And thank providence, I haven’t lost you.” 

His kiss is gentle, but Erik’s hand closes on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deeper one.

“You’re still healing.” Charles says breathlessly. 

“I know what’ll make me heal faster.” Erik pulls at his lower lip with his teeth. He doesn’t want Charles to leave just yet. If he goes, Erik will be alone with his thoughts. He’s not ready for that. 

Charles grins. “Lay back then.”

Erik raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Shhh, if you make any noise, one of the many women will come up and see what’s wrong. Trust me, you don’t want that.” 

Erik chuckles, lying back against the pillow. “It’s a good thing I’m naked under there.”

Charles just laughs, as he crawls under the blanket and settles between Erik’s legs. “It does make it easier.” His hands slide down Erik’s thighs as Charles lowers his mouth to breathe over the head of his cock. 

Erik shudders lightly as Charles takes him in his mouth. Christ, but the kid has gotten even better at this. Charles takes him further in, stroking at Erik’s balls as he does. Erik shifts his legs slightly, allowing Charles more access. The younger man sinks further back under the sheet, pulling off so that he can mouth wetly at Erik’s balls.

“ _Charles_.” Erik arches up into the heat of the young mouth. His cock is aching for Charles’s mouth to return, but his balls are unwilling to give it up. “Charles, _you…_ ”

“I told you to be quiet.” Charles mutters from under the blanket. “You don’t want them coming in here.”

“They all know what we’re doing by now.” Erik points out. “They’re not children, Charles.” He groans even louder as Charles lets his teeth slide teasingly along the underside of his cock. “God, _Charles_.”

Erik comes with a rush and a shout. If the women didn't know before then, they definitely knew now. 

Charles clambers out from under the blanket slowly. “Next time, fair warning…” His face is spattered in Erik’s come.

“Come here.” Erik tugs him up so that he can brush the hair back from Charles’s face. “I like you looking like this.”

“I bet you do.” Charles’s laugh is lost as Erik kisses him.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER. 
> 
> FINALLY.
> 
> *faints*
> 
> (Okay. So technically this is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue eventually. I promise.)

Erik recovers slowly, but steadily. His hand and shoulder are stiff and uncomfortable. The doctor's informed him that while he will regain use of his hand, it's unlikely that he'll ever be quite as good a shot as he was before. He doesn't know if it's relief or regret that passes through him. It's almost as though it doesn't matter now. Shaw's dead. What use is his gun hand now? He's done what he always intended to and yet, here he is. Still alive. What purpose is there to his life now? He's adrift and uncertain for the first time in so many years. 

Charles sits next to him, and reads, until Erik can no longer bear the sound of his voice, and pulls him close to kiss him into silence. When Charles is in his arms, he can pretend that whatever happens after he's recuperated doesn't matter. Only this, Charles, warm against him, matters. 

It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't deserve Charles. He didn't deserve him when he was a killer; he certainly doesn't deserve him now that he's a useless, former shell of himself. 

Erik knows he needs to leave as soon as he's capable. 

He doesn't want to. 

* * *

Emma comes to the saloon one evening before sunset. She stands there in the middle of the room, eyes on Erik who steadies himself at the bar, while the others listen to what she has to say. She's selling the ranch and going back east.

“There's nothing for me here...there hasn't been in a long time.” She sounds resigned.

“I think that's a wise decision.” Erik bears Emma no ill will. He cannot fault her for her choices any more then he can blame Charles for making him want to stay here in this town. 

Emma turns to Moira hesitantly. “I wanted to give you this.” She holds out a folded slip of paper. “You deserve it...after everything. I know it doesn't make up for everything he did, but...” 

Moira looks at it. It's a check for ten thousand dollars. Her pride would like to refuse it, but there's Charles and Raven and the girls to think about it. So she takes it and thanks Emma. 

* * *

Emma Frost leaves on the next stagecoach out of town. Erik's the only one to see her off. 

“You should stick around.” She tells him. 

Erik shakes his head. “I don't belong here.” 

“None of us belong here,” Emma tells him dryly. “It's the person you belong with.” Her hand touches his arm for the briefest moment. “You've got family here, Erik. Don't be so quick to throw that away.” 

He watches until the stagecoach is gone and the dust has settled, before he turns to head back to the saloon to pack his bags. 

* * *

Charles finds him in his room packing. He stands in the doorway, watching silently until Erik finally turns and faces him. 

“It's time I was on my way.”

Charles has gone over this moment a thousand times in his head. He's come up with argument after argument why Erik should stay. But in the end it comes down to whether Erik wants to stay, and Charles can't make him want that. He won't force Erik to say here with him purely out of guilt. So he says nothing. 

Erik looks around the room and picks up his hat from the bed along with his saddlebag.

“Are you going to say goodbye to the others?” Charles asks at last.

“No.” Erik puts his hat on, pulling the brim down. “I only promised I'd say goodbye to you, Charles. And I am.”

Charles nods silently. 

He follows Erik down the stairs and out the back to where his horse is tied. 

“Where will you go?” 

“I don't know yet.” Erik fastens his saddle bag and looks at him. “You should go back east, Charles. This is no place for you.”

“Is that right?” Charles leans on the hitching post, just looking at him.

“Yes, that's right.” Erik leans in, wrapping his hand around Charles's neck as he kisses him deeply one last time. When he pulls back, Charles looks like he's about to ask him to stay. Erik can see it in his eyes so he turns away away quickly.

“You should go to school back east. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?” He swings up into the saddle.

“And how do you know what I've always wanted?” Charles asks. 

“Just a hunch.” Erik grips his reins. There's a lump welling up in his throat, and this is it... he can't go back. So he nods wordlessly to Charles and wheels his horse around, heading out.

Charles stands there on the porch, watching him until Erik's faded into the horizon. And then even then he doesn't want to go inside.

The saloon feels empty. He stocks the shelves, wipes down the bar and just listens to the silence.

“Charles?” Moira comes in the door. “We need to be opening up. Charles?”

“I heard you.” He doesn't mean to snap. All the anger that's welling up at Erik for leaving is coming out now, and he presses his hands flat against the bar until his knuckles are white.

“Charles?” Moira looks at him with concern.

“He's gone.” Charles whispers. “He's gone.”


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's finished. *collapses*

One year later - 

Erik's playing poker in New Orleans when he hears the rumor of a school out west. “Some fancy young mister, thinks that he can run a school for kids. As though they need schooling out there.” The gentleman laughs and makes his play.

“Did they mention the name of the schoolteacher?” Erik inquires casually.

“Something fancy and foreign. Xavier, I think it was. Yes, that's right. Charles Xavier.” The gentleman laughs and shakes his head. 

“Thank you.” Erik wins the hand, pockets the money and goes back to his hotel room to consider. 

Chances are it's nothing at all. So Charles has started a school. Good for him. He would make a marvelous teacher. He should be teaching. 

Chances are Erik's a fool. 

* * *

But Erik's willing to take a chance just this once, so he packs up his few possessions in a valise and heads west again. This time he takes a train like any other normal traveler. He doesn't have to have his horse ready to ride out of town at a moment's notice. He watches the miles fly by and he wonders...

He wonders if Charles will be happy to see him, or if he'll slam the door in his face. He wonders if he was a fool back then to ride away. 

By the time he reaches the town where it all started and ended, Erik's exhausted. Half from the long and arduous journey and half from the thinking he's put himself through. He collects his valise and looks around the town. 

It's grown since he was last here. The street stretches further than before, and beyond that there's a second row of houses. There's more businesses, more houses, more people. It's become a real town, and at the far edge of it, he can see a schoolhouse standing there like a challenge.

Erik takes a deep breath and walks toward it.

* * *

It's early afternoon. Class must have just been dismissed. He hesitates at the bottom of the stairs before climbing them. The door is open and Erik pauses.

There's a man standing at the blackboard with his back toward Erik as he writes busily. 

Erik clears his throat.

“I said you didn't have to stay late today, Hank.” The man says without looking over his shoulder. “But if you keep it up, tomorrow you'll have to forfeit recess.”

“What a hard taskmaster you've become.” Erik murmurs.

The man freezes, and then slowly turns to face him.

“My god, is it really you?”

Erik shrugs awkwardly, pulling his hat from his head. “The last time I checked...yes.” He waits, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Charles is just standing there, staring at him. “Say something, Charles.”

At his name, Charles stiffens. “And what would you have me say.” He sets down the piece of chalk he was writing with, wiping his hands on the rag from his desk. 

“Anything.” Erik murmurs. Anything at all.

“Anything.” Charles repeats. “Very well. Why are you back?”

“I heard about your school.”

Charles waits. “And....”

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” Erik says at last. Charles is making this so damned difficult. He's grown into an even handsomer young man now. He looks like a teacher, possibly even a learned professor, albeit a young one. Erik wants to tell him how unbearably proud he is, but something in Charles's expression won't let him. Something that tells him he should go.

“It's been lovely to see you, Charles.” Erik turns. 

“Wait.” Charles steps forward.

Erik turns back, waiting, to hear what he will say.

“I let you leave once without saying goodbye.” Charles says stiffly, then his voice softens slightly. “If I let you leave again, I'll never hear the end of it. Come home with me for dinner.”

“I don't really think,” Erik starts to protest.

“I insist,” Charles says firmly, and finally Erik agrees. He stands to one side, clutching his valise as Charles locks up his schoolhouse and they head down the street together.

“How many students do you have?”

“Fifteen at the moment...more when the harvest is over. Their parents don't quite understand how much an education will benefit their children yet, but they will. Eventually.”

“I'm sure.” Erik says. 

Charles glances at him as though he's not sure whether or not Erik is teasing him or not. 

He leads Erik to a gray clapboard house on the second street. The small back yard joins with the saloon's land. “Here.”

“You live here?”

“No...” Charles wipes his dusty boots on the mat. “But Moira and Raven and the others all still do.” He holds the door and ushers Erik in.

“Charles, you're late!” Raven calls through the door as she enters the room. She stops dead at the sight of Erik. “God almighty.”

“It's a pleasure to see you too, Raven.”

She runs across the room and flings her arms around him. It takes a moment for Erik to react, but then he responds, holding her tight, his hands pressed flat against her back.

“I always knew you'd come back.” Raven whispers. She stepped back, smiling at him. “Charles, isn't it good to see him again.” 

“Very.” Charles brushes past her. “Is dinner ready?”

“Yes,” she reaches for Erik's hand, tugging him along. 

Dinner is not quite the happy reunion Erik had let himself occasionally picture over the last year. Moira and Raven are pleased to see him, yes. They don't even seem to bear him any ill will about leaving as he had. But Charles...Charles is polite as ever. He doesn't even look away when he finds Erik watching him. But there's a look in his eyes that Erik finds heartbreaking. And he knows he did that.

* * *

Raven makes a fresh pot of coffee as Charles clears away the dishes.

“So,” Erik clears his throat awkwardly. “Tell me how you've all been.” 

“Since you up and left you mean.” Raven says innocently.

“Raven.” Charles murmurs. 

“What? I'm just stating the obvious. We've been just dandy, Erik. Moira still runs the saloon, Angel helps out. It's doing really well.”

“It's turned into a very good business, now that Shaw...” Moira trails off, smiling at Erik, who smiles back. It does him well to see that good has come out of Shaw's death. He looks at Charles and his satisfaction fades. Yes, Shaw is dead, but Charles is angry with him. He should have known. 

“Anyway,” Raven goes on. “Jubilee and Jean started the library down the street, behind the post office. They only have a few books so far, but they'll get more.”

“And what about you, Raven?” Erik clasps his coffee cup with both hands.

“Oh, I run the livery stables and Marie gives me a hand. And well, Charles, you've seen his school.” There's so much love and pride in her voice, it makes Charles blush. This time he doesn't meet Erik's gaze.

“That is all marvelous.” Erik means every word.

“And what about you?” Raven asks. “Where have you been?”

“Oh...” Erik smiles lightly. “Here and there.” 

“Yes, you never did stay in one place very long, did you.” Charles murmurs into his coffee.

Erik glances at him. He knows he deserves this, but it's hard to take from Charles all the same. “Yes, well, I've never had real motivation to stay.”

The hurt that passes through Charles's eyes pains him, but Erik takes a sip of coffee and looks at Charles blandly. 

“Where are you staying, Erik?” Moira inquires. What she wants to know is _how long_ , but she can't bring herself to ask that. Not at the moment. “Charles?”

“I thought he could stay with you.” Charles takes another sip of coffee. 

“Well, the rooms are full up, so you'll just have to stay with Charles.” Raven smiles winningly.

“I hardly think that's the best...” Charles trails off. There's an uncomfortable silence and he can't look at Erik.

“I'll get a hotel room.” Erik stands. “I trust there's a hotel here by now.”

“Yes, The Grand, just down the the street opposite the general store.” Moira tells him. “It's a good establishment.”

“Good. Thank you for the lovely meal.” He smiles slightly at Moira and Raven, then leaves.

Erik checks into the hotel which is very nice indeed, for a town this size. He drops his valise on the floor and surrenders to the bed, stretching out upon it. He doesn't know why he came back here. Things have changed. Things always changed and he's stuck somewhere in the past, wandering and wondering what he's supposed to do. Killing Shaw was his goal for so many years and now...that purpose was gone. Erik hasn't let himself want anything else for so long, it feels like betrayal to admit such a thing. Even to himself. But there's only one thing he wants left in this world...and even now, he knows he can't have it.

_What did you think Charles was going to do? Fall into your arms? Kiss you willingly and want you immediately?_

Erik exhales softly. 

“Yes,” he tells himself in the silence of his hotel room. “Damned if I didn't think that very thing.” Deep deep down within himself, he had still hoped.

* * * 

“Good lord, Charles.” Raven slams the water jug down on the table. “Stop being such a goddamn idiot.”

“What?” Charles looks defensive. He's not being an idiot. He's being perfectly civil to the man who disappeared a year ago, a man Charles hasn't heard a word from since.

“Go after him.”

“I thought I already had lost him.” Charles shrugs. That's a simplification of the matter, but he's too tired to go over it again. He's spent enough nights doing that already.

“And now you have a second chance.” Raven says pointedly. “Are you really just going to let him leave again?”

“I can't make him do anything.” Charles stares at his hands. How he wants to do that very thing. To go to Erik and make him stay, hold him still and keep him. But he can't.

“That's not the point. You don't want to make him do anything. You want him to stay of his own accord.”

Charles looks at her then. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, but how is he supposed to know that unless you tell him?” With that Raven goes to move the coffee pot off the stove.

Charles sits there a moment longer, thinking about what she said. 

Then he gets up, pulls his coat on, and goes out.

* * *

There's a rap on his hotel door and Erik starts out of his sleep. He reaches automatically for his gun. Old habits die hard, and he has to remind himself that it's on the dresser. It's not a necessity any more. He's musing on that, how odd it feels, when he pulls the door open to find Charles standing there.

“Charles...come in.” Erik steps back, leaving the door open. He's only half surprised.

“I couldn't leave it like that.” Charles closes the door behind him, leaning against it. “Where have you been?” Charles asks softly.

“Here and there.” Erik repeats his words from dinner. He takes out his flask and takes a sip. That's not entirely a lie. He's been everywhere. New York once or twice, because that's where the best schools. Boston because, well, there's a good school there too. But he can't say that. Can't say he's been looking for Charles. Because Charles has gone ahead with his life and made his own choices and Erik's pleased really...truly, he is.

He had just thought Charles would leave this shit-hole of a town. Leave the memories behind and just go. 

He holds the flask out and Charles takes it, careful not to let their fingers touch. Erik pretends he doesn't notice. He steps back, watching Charles as he takes a sip.

Charles grimaces as the whiskey burns down his throat. He looks older, more mature. Happier, Erik thinks, but isn't quite certain. Erik wants to push him under the light of the lamp and study all the differences. The small lines around Charles's mouth, the faint wrinkles around his eyes when he looks questioning or worried. Erik wants to kiss him so badly that his body aches with it. But he gave up the right to do that a year ago (if he ever truly had it to begin with) so he keeps his hands to himself.

“Raven always said you would come back.” Charles studies the flask. “I wanted to...even now,” He looks up, smiling in spite of himself. “Even now I want to believe that you are here and maybe this time you'll stay. But I can't....” He exhales softly. “If you're just going to leave again. I can't do that. I don't want to, and I won't.” 

He holds the flask out. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Erik asks.

“Isn't it a little unfair to ask me that?” 

Erik shrugs, taking the flask. This time his fingers brush over Charles's deliberately. He wants to touch him, wants to remind him of everything. As though Charles could forget. He waits.

“Yes.” Charles says at last. He's not ashamed of it. Even now.

“Then I'll stay.” 

“Just like that?” Charles can't keep the disbelief from his voice. 

Erik nods. 

Charles doesn't leave. He just stands there.

Erik takes a chance. He takes a step forward and he's only inches from Charles's face. Charles's mouth, looking up at him. Erik kisses him softly, so softly at first, just his lips on Charles's. 

* * *

Then, Charles's lips part and Erik _moves_. He presses Charles up against the door, kissing him so hard, he can't breathe, but breathing's unnecessary. He has Charles here, in his arms. He'll smother him if he's not careful. He pulls back, his mouth hungry, so very hungry.

“Erik, Erik,” Charles gasps. “Erik, please.” 

Erik moves in again. He's got Charles by the hips, bringing him flush against his body. “I need you, Charles.”

“ _You_ need.” Charles laughs. “ _You_. Need.” There's a hunger in his eyes that Erik's never seen before. He likes it. Charles pushes him back toward the bed, but Erik's got his hands around him, so they move together. Charles pushes and Erik falls backward, holding Charles on top of him. 

“Every night I needed you.” Charles presses against him, grinding his crotch subtly against Erik. “Every single night and you weren't there.”

“I'm here now.” Erik releases him, spreading his arms wide. “What do you want to do to me?”

“Everything.” Charles tell him, kissing him. “Everything.”

Erik laughs. He's more than all right with that. So he lies there willingly as Charles undresses him, piece by piece, until at last Erik's lying naked on the bed. Charles stands back, looking down at him with satisfaction as he removes his coat.

“Do you know,” he says conversationally, tossing his coat aside. “How often I've thought of you in this year? How many nights I touched myself, wishing it was you?”

“How many?” Erik props himself up on his elbows, watching Charles intently. 

“Oh no.” Charles unbuttons his shirt at a leisurely pace. “First you tell me...where have you been?”

“New York.” Erik watches as Charles slips his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. Charles's hands go to his trousers, pulling his belt free first. 

Understanding dawns in Charles's eyes and Erik looks away, suddenly vulnerable. He doesn't have to explain why he was in New York; Charles is far too clever. And now, Erik's need is out in the open. 

“I couldn't leave.” Charles steps out of his trousers and underclothes. He stands naked before Erik. “Raven, Moira...they were staying. They said I could go, but I couldn't...and then I had the idea for the school. There was enough money with what Emma gave us. So that's what I did.” He crawls on top of Erik, straddling him. 

“It's what I wanted, Erik.” 

“Truly?” Erik has to ask, even though Charles's cock is rubbing against his in the most delightful manner and it's taking all of Erik's control not to roll them over and grind against him hard.

“Truly.” Charles says firmly. He leans down to take hold of Erik, just holding him there, brushing his thumb back and forth along Erik's cock. “Except I was lying to myself.”

“Ah.” 

Charles nods. “I want you.” Both of his hands come up to rest on Erik's shoulders. “I want you too. Does that make me greedy?”

“Perhaps.” Erik says. “But if so, I share that greed.”

“Good.” Charles kisses him. He sits back, looking around. 

“My valise.” Erik says.

“Hopeful, were you?” Charles asks as he goes to fetch the oil.

“You never know.” Erik shrugs. 

Charles returns to the bed with the bottle. He pours a good amount into the palm of his hand, eying Erik as he does. He climbs back on the bed, straddling Erik once more. 

“Close your eyes.”

“Charles.” But he does, even though he wants to see.

Instead he _feels_. Charles's cool slicked fingers brushing lightly up his shaft, and then down again, teasing him, before taking his cock into Charles's grasp. Erik sets his teeth against the moans that want to escape as Charles slicks his cock in a slow, deliberate way, making Erik fuck into his fist.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” Erik croaks.

“Maybe.” Charles says. He's smiling, that Erik can tell even with his eyes closed. Then Charles's hand is gone and Erik waits...

Then Charles shifts slightly, changing position, and this time Erik can't contain the sound that comes from his mouth as Charles lowers himself onto his cock. 

Never has darkness been so sweet. Erik has lived his life in darkness. His dreams were mired in it for so long, whereas this, _this_ is like having his dreams turned inside out until they're so bright he can't even begin to see them. 

“Erik.” There's a voice somewhere above him and Erik blinks, returning to the present, to this glorious moment with Charles. His cock buried inside Charles. Charles above him, all around him, Charles surrounding him. 

“Erik.” Charles's breath is labored. He's so close.

Erik opens his eyes. Charles is looking at him with such a look, Erik can't speak. That look... he can't think what it means. 

“I love you.” Charles says it so quietly; it steals Erik's breath. Then Charles is kissing him, that eager, hungry mouth, devouring Erik, until he comes with Charles wrapped around him heart and soul.

* * *

When Erik opens his eyes again, Charles is stretched out on his back beside him. 

Erik rolls over, curving a leg between Charles's thighs. Charles smiles at him as Erik studies him. He cups Charles's jaw, gazing into the younger man's eyes. 

“I love you.” Erik says it, not because he has to, but he can't bear the thought that Charles doesn't know how much he means. 

Charles's mouth curves up into a smile, smiling up at him. Erik kisses that smile, keeping it for his own.

* * *

“Now what.” Charles asks after a moment when Erik's finally stopped kissing him.

“Christ, Charles.” Erik groans. “Can't we just stay in bed for a week?”

“Some of us have to be up tomorrow to teach.” 

“Ah, yes. Your students.” Erik leans on his elbow. “And what will you be teaching them tomorrow?” 

“Everything.” Charles says seriously. “But mostly reading, writing, arithmetic.” 

“Excellent.” Erik yawns. “Well, wake me when you're done for the day.” He wraps an arm around Charles and drift off. 

* * *

In the morning, Charles gets dressed and slips out, kissing Erik before he goes. Erik murmurs something in his sleep and rolls over.

* * *

When he does finally get up, Erik shaves leisurely before heading over to the livery stable. He spends the morning watching Raven run her business. She does it well, keeping the pace quick and efficient. She's good with the people and the animals. Erik watches and know she's in her element.

At midday she takes out sandwiches and bottles of beer, handing one of each to Erik. 

"So..." Raven opens her beer.

"So..." Erik takes a sip of his.

"Are you going to stay this time?"

"It appears so." Erik hides a smile behind his bottle.

"Good." Raven says bluntly. "But you should know. If you promise that, and then leave again. This time I'll hunt you down and kill you myself."

"I'll bear that in mind." Erik holds out his beer and Raven clinks hers against it.

"Where's Charles staying anyway, if he doesn't live in the house with you?"

Raven grins. "He's still above the saloon."

* * *

After school is dismissed that's where Erik finds him. Charles is putting away his stack of books and papers for the day. 

“You still live here.” Erik stops in the doorway, looking around. The room hasn't changed. The coverlet on the bed is still the same. 

“I like it here.” Charles says defensively. This is his room. This is where...he doesn't have to tell Erik what this room means to him.

Erik spins his hat round his hand and smiles. 

“So I've been thinking.” Charles says. He takes something out of his dresser drawer and closes it again.

“Dangerous.” Erik murmurs. “What have you been thinking, then?” 

“This town is growing.” Charles faces him. “It's going to need a sheriff.”

It takes Erik a moment to realize what Charles is suggesting. “You must be joking.”

“Why?”

“I'm hardly the man for that job.” Charles can't be serious. 

“I can't think of a better one.” Charles holds out his hand. “Here.”

There's a thin metal star lying in the center of his palm. Erik stares at it, a dark star against Charles's pale palm.

“When they buried Shaw...I had them take the bullet out.”

“Why would you do that?”

Charles shrugged. “It meant so much to you. I wanted to give it to you as a keepsake. Before you left.”

“Why didn't you?” Erik picks the star up. It doesn't feel real; the weight is nothing at all.

“It never seemed like the right moment. And then you left. One day, while I was still hoping you'd come back, I had the blacksmith make it into that.”

Erik weighs the star in his hand. It's a tarnished badge. A reminder of everything he's done...and everything he could still do. A reminder that the blood on his hands is there for a reason, but it's not all he is. Erik's fingers close over it.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“And...”

“I'll think about it.” But Erik knows that the answer is enough for Charles, that in Charles's mind he's as good as said yes from the smile that breaks out across Charles's face.


End file.
